Reaching Out
by NotMarge
Summary: It is easy for mutants to feel alone, isolated. But they don't always have to be. Sometimes it helps just to reach out. Post DoFP; the third Hank McCoy story in what has suddenly become a trilogy. Featuring the return of OC Hope and additional movie mutants.
1. Finally

I do not own X-Men anything.

You'd think I'd run out of words by now. You'd be wrong. ;)

Reaching Out

Chapter 1: Finally

* * *

Hank knocked on the dorm room door and waited nervously, trying not to fidget. Glanced down at himself. Blue and white striped t-shirt under a rust-orange colored long sleeve shirt, and khaki pants. Basic sneakers. Not really an impressive ensemble, but he couldn't think about that right now.

He heard movement, then a muffled voice from within.

"Hang on a second."

Her voice. That was _her_ voice. His entire stomach dropped into his feet and he just knew he was about to throw up. He had to run. Now. Before she opened the door. After everything that had happened, this was crazy, illogical, impossible. They could never be together, it would never work. She was too . . . and he was too . . . everything was too . . .

He thought all this in the frantic space of about three seconds.

And then she opened the door.

Her brown hair was loose and flowing over her shoulders. Her lovely face was devoid of makeup and her brown eyes appeared to be red and puffy from crying. Her button nose looked red. She seemed thinner than he remembered.

She wore faded bellbottom jeans and a sleeveless violet top. Her feet were bare. Her toenails were bright orange, freshly painted.

She stared at him in shock, her mouth falling slightly ajar.

She was beautiful. She was radiant. She was an angel.

He smiled nervously.

_This is ridiculous. I am a highly intelligent scientist _and_ accomplished inventor.__ I've battled mutant-killer sentinels. Am I really afraid of a _girl_?_

"Hi," he managed.

She stood unmoving, her hand still on the doorknob. Her mouth closed in a frown, her eyebrows slowly knitting together above her narrowing gaze.

"_You."_

Hank's anxiety rose to new terrifying heights as she stared fixedly at him. He couldn't decide whether she was angry or sad.

_Yes, yes I am. I am completely terrified._

Suddenly, her face twisted and she advanced on him. Her delicate, usually gentle, hands balled into fists, assailing his torso. Pummeling his chest, his stomach.

"Why didn't you _tell_ me, you _jerk_?! You should have _told_ me! You think I wouldn't have _understood_?! It's been an entire _month_! Where _were_ you?!"

She wasn't angry or sad. Not his dear, sweet Hope.

She was furious.

Hank was stunned. Even the Beast blinked in surprise. And couldn't even growl.

"I _saw_ you and I _knew_ it was you! And then you were _gone_! And I didn't know _where _. . ."

Hope's attack lasted mere seconds but the sudden force of it pushed the defenseless Hank back against the wall behind him.

A blond girl carrying a small laundry basket of folded clothes down the quiet hall witnessed the assault.

"Hey, Hope, you okay?"

Hope's glaring face never even so much as glanced away from Hank, who stood shocked and paralyzed by her vehement reaction to his appearance.

"Scram, Jessie!"

The blond girl looked offended.

"Jeez, Hope, you don't have to be such a . . ."

With something akin to a snarl, Hope rolled her eyes, and propelled herself backward, dragging Hank with her.

Practically flinging him into the room she had just come out of, Hope slammed the door and locked it.

Hank meanwhile adjusted his askew glasses, looking around the space he had just been manhandled into.

The walls were dull white and covered with colorful music and movie posters, and two tack boards covered with colorful push-pinned bits of paper. A window separated the two single beds, both of which were unmade. Clothes littered the floor. Scatters of crumpled Kleenex adorned the bed against the far wall. A closet stood unlatched to his right, bursting at the seams with clothing. A dresser on his left was covered with adhesive flowers. Two desks piled with papers and books, pencils and pens.

And then she advanced on him again.

Wrapping her arms around him in a crushing embrace so tight he could barely breathe, she buried her face in his neck. Hank automatically wrapped one arm comfortingly around her back, the other held out slightly. He lowered his head to rest his cheek on the top of her head, closing his eyes.

And realized she was talking again. Quieter. Slower.

". . . you were fighting some guy, and roaring and these weird metal poles trapped you in the air and everybody was freaking out and saying it was a monster but I knew it was just you and I kept looking at my toenails and I couldn't talk to anybody about it . . ."

Her rambling voice was thick and heavy.

" . . . and then a few days later, right before the White House feed cut out, I thought I saw you but it was only for a second and there were those machines and that guy again . . ."

Hope was crying.

". . . kept waiting and watching pointless newscasts. You know they never tell you any real information. I would calm down for a while then I'd think of you again and . . ."

He opened his eyes and released his hold on her. Leaning back a little, Hank tucked a hand under her chin, raising her face up to meet his.

"Hope. Hope, s_top_. It's okay. I'm okay."

She stopped, searching his blue eyes with her big, liquid-brown ones.

He spoke, barely able to contain himself with her face beseechingly upturned so closely to his.

"I'm sorry, Hope. I'll tell you everything. Just . . . please stop crying. _Please_?"

Hope took a deep, shaky breath and let it out slowly. He let go of her chin and brushed the tears on her cheeks away with a trembling thumb.

She spoke again, calmer now, though her voice was still shaky.

"If you had told me, I would have been . . . prepared, okay? Hank, I would have been . . . I don't know . . . cheering you on!"

_I bet you would have. Then you would have painted everything orange, wouldn't you? Oh, Hope . . ._

He opened his mouth to speak words though he didn't yet know what would they would be.

There was a sudden knocking on the door of Hope's room. She and Hank both flinched at the abrupt interruption.

_If that's Logan, I'm going to kill him._

Reluctantly, Hope let go of him and moved to the door. Unlocking it, she cracked it open a few inches. A sliver of the blond girl from before appeared and immediately started talking in what she apparently thought was a whisper.

It was not.

"Hope, you okay? Who _is_ that? I've never even seen you _date_ another guy much less bring one into your _room_. I thought you were, like, a _nun_ or . . ."

Hope interrupted.

"Jessie, shut up. I'm fine. Bye."

And shut the door solidly in the girl's ogling face, locking it again. Hope turned, blushing, back to Hank. Hank, who was still standing in the middle of the small room. She swiped at her face with trembling fingers.

And looked down at what was clutched in his hand.

"Hank . . . what are those?"

_What are what?_

Hank followed her gaze. To the roses.

_Oh._

He still held them in his right hand. He'd managed not to drop them when she attacked him, flung him, or hugged him. Quite a feat, considering the intensity of her various interplays.

"Oh, um, they're . . . uh, I . . . brought them . . . for you."

She slowly moved to him, reached down, and covered his hand with her own, bringing the flowers up closer to inspect them.

Three roses. Red, yellow, and white. Just as Hank had planned.

A month ago. A hundred years ago.

He'd momentarily forgotten he even had them.

"You brought me roses . . . and I _attacked_ you?"

He shrugged.

"Why?"

He shrugged again.

"Well, you were mad because I . . ."

She graced him with one of her sweet, soothing smiles. Left hand still touching his with the roses, the right reaching up to rest on his chest. His arm was embracing her again. He could feel her warmth through the thin fabric and he was sure she could feel his pounding heartbeat.

"_No_, Hank. Why did you bring me _roses_?"

He stopped and swallowed thickly. He couldn't breathe. His heart thundered in his ears. His mouth felt dry. He was pretty sure he was about to drop dead on the spot.

_Were the Sentinels easier than this? Maybe. Maybe not. I'm not sure any more._

She watched him expectantly. Waiting patiently. Apparently just as she'd always done.

"Because . . . well . . ."

He took a deep breath, unable to look away from those beautiful brown eyes.

_Just say it, man!_

"I love you, Hope."

There. He'd said it. The words were out, floating in the air between them and he could not get them back. He just had to stay conscious and hope for the best.

She looked at the roses. And back up at him. And smiled. It was like a warming ray of sunlight breaking through a heavy grey cloudbank.

"Oh Hank . . . I love you, too."

Hank swore his insides swelled and burst with all his emotions. Relief, awe, happiness, love. They stood still, gazing at each other for a few long seconds.

"Can I . . . kiss you?" he asked, voice trembling.

"You'd better," she said with a grin and a quirked eyebrow. "I've been waiting for five years."

He blinked at her, a lopsided smile forming on his face.

"Really?"

She nodded, eyebrows raised.

"Of course, Hank. Didn't you know?"

He blushed, ducking his head just a bit.

_Well, maybe a little._

And then he did kiss her.

It was sweet and delicious and perfect.

* * *

**Hi all! Welcome back!**

**Okay, yes. I know this was incredibly cheesy, but let's admit it. They **_**deserved**_** it for crying out loud. Don't you think?**

**Plus, this story is not going to be near as dark or heavy as "In Between" or the DoFP fic. Expect a little silliness and fun this time around. As I said to ChiefPam, I actually prefer to write happy stuff but it would have been insincere and unrealistic before this point, yeah?**

**Okay, so in my head, Hank is around twenty-eight here and Hope is about twenty-three. If that's important to you guys. ;)**

**Everybody appreciates feedback. Leave a review if you like.**


	2. The Importance of Words

I do not own X-Men anything.

You'd think I'd run out of words by now. You'd be wrong.

Reaching Out

Chapter 2: The Importance of Words

* * *

When Hank kissed her, Hope kissed him back. For several heady, delightful minutes. Then reluctantly detaching from his tentative embrace, she found a container for the roses and filled it with water. Placing it on her mess of a desk, she poured the remnants of a half empty Sprite bottle into the flower water as well.

_Should have cleaned. But how was I to know he'd just appear? I've been waiting _forever_._

Then she smiled at Hank and, wrapping her arms around his neck, kissed him again.

And took him down to the floor.

Sat them both down cross-legged, face to face. Backs resting comfortably against the sides of opposite beds. And insisted that he come clean and tell her the entire story. From start to finish.

Brave Hank looked deep into the eyes of the beautiful girl who had just told him she loved him and had waited for him.

And decided to trust her.

So he did.

He had already told her about his upbringing in Dundee, Illinois. He had already told her about attending Harvard at such a young age though he had not told her _everything_.

He had already told her about working in the government facility, inventing, researching. Being around nothing but distracted, distant, self-serving adults on a constant basis.

So now he told her the rest.

He told her about meeting them. Charles. Raven. The other young mutants.

He told her about his infatuation with Raven and the interactions they'd had.

Hope remained quiet and listening, refusing to allow her initial jealousy cloud her reaction to his honest tale. He was finally telling her everything that he withheld all these years and she wasn't going to miss a single thing. She'd waited to hear it all for so long and now that most of it was obviously painful for him to relay, she would listen carefully and then never force him to speak of it again.

He told her about the attacks from Shaw and his attempted coercions. And how he immediately seen right through them and into that heart of destruction and darkness.

He sorrowfully told her about the obliteration of Darwin and the guilt it had obviously caused Alex.

He told her about the training and the comradery he and the rest had all started to tentatively partake in.

He told her about his desperation, his mistakes, his regrets.

And she put her hand comfortingly on his knee and he, to his credit, did not shy away in shame.

He told her about piloting the plane and the ensuing battle and she could not resist a smile slipping past her lips at the thought of gentle Hank pummeling _anyone_. Even though she had seen the Paris feed of him, it still was difficult to imagine.

But she was glad he had it in him.

He told her about Shaw's demise, about Erik's betrayal, and Raven's abandonment.

She covered her mouth with a horrified hand when the bullet severed Charles' spine.

He told her about the school and its hopeful beginnings.

He told her about its decline. The years of despair, of loneliness, of misery.

And she swallowed her tears so that he would not see and be distracted from the once and only telling of his tale. She swallowed as well her rising anger at Charles' self-pitying behavior and the profound effect it had on Hank's existence.

And if she was going to be completely honest, she felt a little like smacking Hank as well for allowing himself to be consumed by it for so long. But since it was over and she kind of understood, she chose not to.

He told her about the running, about the music, and about finally looking up and seeing her.

She smiled then, remaining silent and still, refusing to stop the tidal wave of his words.

_I've never heard him talk so much. It's like he's been holding it in all this time. And now he's presenting it to me. Almost like a gift. Like my roses._

He told her about the day he had woken up and decided to come to her. And about Logan's abrupt, painful arrival.

He told her about every single thing that had transpired up to the point that he had knocked on her door.

Sometimes she laughed at his sarcastic thoughts. Wiped a tear away at his heart-wrenching struggles. Barely refrained from sounding a cheer at his victories. Felt her heart swell every time he mentioned thinking of her in times of distress and solitude.

_Oh, Hank. When you're done, I'm going to paint everything orange, I swear._

Concentrated on not clenching her jaw at his interactions and feelings regarding what was apparently a completely naked, crocodilic, redhaired, female smurf.

Hope knew she was being unfair in her internal critisms of what she understood must be a strongly principled, highly-driven young woman whom she should admire for her fortitude and independent nature and stance.

But since that same woman had hurt her special Hank, Hope found it difficult to feel any initial emotion but anger.

He told her about his weeks of self-assigned solitude, about his miserable internal conflict, about his final decision.

And he told her the significance of each one of the roses. And then she did weep. Just a little.

And when he was done, Hank sat still and silent. Horrified at the notion that he had said too much, revealed too much, expressed too much.

He had talked for over an hour straight.

_Growl._

_I know. That was a lot of words. Especially for me._

_Growl._

_Well, at least I got to kiss her once before she threw me out of her life forever._

_Growl._

_Maybe. Anything's possible. _

His throat was sore and dry. His head hurt a little and he felt slightly raw at reliving everything all over again. He found he could do nothing but sit and await her judgment and decree.

He didn't have wait long.

She sighed, gazing at him, considering everything he had revealed. The good and the bad. And she made her decision.

_He needs to be touched. He needs to be loved. He needs me to accept him for exactly who and what he is right now._

Hope reached out with a sticky mutant finger and pulled his glasses off his face. Placed them up on her desk next to the roses.

He let her.

_Better to not see her face clearly when she reveals her final ruling and punches me in the face anyway. Been a lot of that lately as I recall._

And then she, she with the orange painted toes and the emotion for a name, shocked Hank more than he could ever have imagined.

By climbing onto his lap, wrapping her arms and upper legs around him and pulling him into a full embrace. Cheek to cheek, she placed her lips shiveringly close to one ear, uttering murmurings he could barely hear over the pounding of his own heart.

She told him how proud and grateful and relieved she was for everything he had survived and accomplished. She told him how much more she would have helped if she had only known. How she would have kicked Charles right in the junk if he had only confided in her. She told him she believed in him and trusted him and loved him.

She told him he was wonderful. She told him she was so grateful he had chosen to look up and was here now.

And Hank McCoy who had endured alone stoically for so long, sat very still. Eyes closed, arms tight around his Hope. Basking in the warmth of her body, the tickling of her soft breath into his ear. Smelling the faint, sweet fragrance that was all hers. Listening avidly to those sincere words whispered into his hungry heart, filling him up with gratefulness and love and relief and hope.

His insides and hers both quaked with emotions that were too big to be fully expressed.

_I'm still not going to cry,_ he thought, tasting the salty tears in the back of his throat. _Nope. Still not. I think. Pretty sure._

And then she pulled her lips back from his ear, leaning back to study his open countenance. He loosened his embrace, opening his blue eyes and silently gazing at her, completely overwhelmed at her forgiveness and acceptance.

But Hope wasn't done just yet.

Cupping his face delicately in her hands, she tilted it up to hers. Palms feathering his jawline, fingertips lightly grazing his earlobes. And slowly, deliberately kissed him. The center of his smooth forehead as his eyes slipped closed in bliss. Each silky eyelid, then the tip of his nose, causing him to ghost a smile. She turned his head from side to side and kissed each cheekbone in turn.

As her lips and hands gently drifted like soft mist over his face, his entire body relaxed, losing all its bones as they melted liquid out of his pores. His arms slackened, hands lying limply on his knees near her hips. All the discomfort in his head, in his throat, in his soul were gone, brushed away by her attentions.

Nothing had ever felt so good to Hank. Not even the power of the beast.

Then, gently stroking the planes of his handsome face, his eyebrows, his cheeks, his jawline, she finally kissed his lips. Again. Sweetly, tenderly. With openness and love and acceptance.

And as they continued their kisses and he tightened his embrace around her again, Hank gradually began to realize that his emotions and physical reactions to her presence, her body, her touch were changing, evolving. And he was now experiencing other emotional and physical reactions as well.

They were strong. Very strong.

But he hazily decided not to mention them. Or fully express them.

There would be time for that later.

Right now, he didn't think he could handle anything more.

So he kept his hands still, curved around her back.

At least he thought he did. With her fingertips now lazily stroking light trails around his ears and the nape of his neck, he couldn't quite be sure of anything.

What he wasn't aware of was that his dear Hope was experiencing the same reactions. And had also come to the same conclusion about him _and_ herself.

Eventually, coming up for air, Hope calmed her body and mind as best as she could.

And spoke the first words that came to mind.

"Come on, let's go outside for some air. It's warm in here."

It certainly was.

* * *

So Hope donned a jacket and Hank retrieved his glasses. They passed a few body calming minutes discussing the boring aspects of college life. Then Hope took Hank on a walking tour of her university. Arm in arm, they strolled in the chilly sunshine. Every so often one of them would kiss or caress the face or hand of the other. They both suspected they looked like a couple of lovestruck kittens to any observant viewer. And neither of them very much cared.

It seemed to Hank that everybody on campus knew Hope and wanted to be introduced to her tall, bespectacled companion.

Or maybe he was just overwhelmed.

"Hey, this is my boyfriend, Hank."

_Hey, I said 'boyfriend'. Cool._

_Boyfriend. She said 'boyfriend'._

"Hey, good to meet you. So _you're_ the reason she wouldn't go out with me? Lucky you, man."

_Yes, lucky me. Definitely. _

"Oh, finally! Can _you_ tell us why she always paints her toenails orange? She says it's a secret. And she just won't _change_ them."

_Don't you tell them, Hank._

_Nope, not gonna tell. Not me._

"Oh, so _you're_ Hank. Hope talks about you so much I feel like I already know you."

_Oh, I doubt that. But thanks._

"Oooh, Hope, you were right. He _is_ cute."

_Cute. She thinks I'm cute._

And on it went. Hank nodded and smiled and spoke courteously to every single person that walked into their path.

At least he thought he did.

* * *

**Yep, this chapter is super sappy too. What? You telling me, Hank doesn't deserve it? Uh-huh, that's what I **_**thought**_**. *winks**

**Anyway, this was not _all_ about hormones. It's also about being accepted and loved just as you are at a moment when you feel you should not be allowed such grace. **

**That's one part of it. That being said, it is also partly about hormones. ****But that's okay too. They're both people of principal and they'll hold out. Plus, it's my story and I'm holding the reins here. So trust me, yeah?**

**'Crocodilic'? You say it's not a word? Well, it came out of my mouth, didn't it? *smirks**

**Okay, my brigid1318 (thanks for the review, btw and hope you like your Reese's here), you wanted Hank to come clean and be honest. How's that? **

**And thanks to lol as well for coming on back for another installment. Yes, there will be drama sprinkled about, just not to the extent of the other stories. And thank you for speaking up. Reader opinions are always important to me and I will be taking requests and suggestions on this story. **

**Thanks as well to Shanynde, ChiefPam, MoonlitShadowsoftheHumanSoul, and Pandiichan (keeping working on that name and let me know, sweetie) for reviewing.**

**Thanks to I've Been a Labrat for what might be the most hilariously fantastic review I've ever read. Whoo!**

**Thanks also to Ssg1, Hiniko, ABewilderedBear, Mr . Kittles3, Jasper6509 for adding your support to this tale.**

**See you all tomorrow for chapter 3! More sweeties for our sweeties! :D**


	3. Good Thoughts

I do not own X-Men anything.

You'd think I'd run out of words by now. You'd be wrong.

Reaching Out

Chapter 3: Good Thoughts

* * *

_I slept with a girl._

That was a good thought.

He held the sleeping, quiet form in his arms.

_I slept with Hope._

That was an even better thought.

_And now I have to pee._

The full sensation in his bladder called out to him urgently.

But she was so warm and inviting and soft that he decided to wait it out a little longer.

They had indeed slept together. Just the two of them. All alone in his little hotel room. Right on the bed.

She hadn't wanted to separate from him all day or evening. Eating together, walking together, chatting with her friends (well, mostly he'd just sat and watched the conversations, chiming in whenever it seemed to be required of him) together.

And as the evening grew late and they tired of the outside world, Hope had requested they go back to his rented room. She appeared to covet her privacy with him after so long away and the hotel room was more private than her noisy, people-infested dorm.

They had relaxed and talked and kissed and lightly caressed late into the night. Until Hope had fallen asleep in his arms on the dingy double bed. Hank, still too keyed up with emotion from the joy of rediscovering her friendship and the advent of their romantic relationship, lay awake. Staring at the dimly lamp-lit ceiling, holding her welcome, sleeping warmth and let his for once lazily-moving thoughts drift through his brain.

Until his eyelids had grown heavier and heavier and he had fallen asleep as well.

Now, the sun was shining through the thin brown curtains of the single window. He had no idea what idea it time it was nor did he care. He had brought multiple doses of his serum. He had told Charles he'd be gone for several days.

He was free just to be.

And be with her.

He shifted his head just enough to get a better view of her. She lay curled into his left side, breathing deep and evenly, cradled in the crook of his arm. That arm which had gone completely numb after several hours. Hank decided to leave it. Her head rested on his shoulder, dark hair fanned out behind. Her left hand resting upon his chest. Every so often the fingers would twitch and tickle his chest.

Hank stretched a bit and kissed her head. She snuggled closer into him in her sleep, making a soft, quiet sound deep in her throat.

And Hank felt a warm swirl of positive waves flow through his entire body.

He wished he could just stop time and stay in the moment indefinitely.

There was just one immediate, pressing problem.

_Okay, now I really need to go._

Reluctantly, he moved to get up. Which woke her. She didn't seem to mind.

Well, not a lot.

* * *

The smells were different here. The feel of the air. The sounds.

But the best difference was him.

Hank.

He was here. He had finally admitted he loved her. He had finally kissed her. He had finally told her everything she had been waiting for him to confide.

And though Hope considered patience one of her virtues, she was glad her waiting was over.

She had been getting _really_ tired of waiting.

When she'd first met him, he'd seemed so withdrawn and taciturn that she'd wondered if he was reachable at all. But there was something about him that just made her really want to try.

Of course she didn't insist he be loquacious and off the wall. Just not a frozen statue.

Besides, she'd compared marbles statues to the tall quiet man she cared for. The difference was that statues didn't hide their pain away behind their bright blue eyes.

And her Hank did.

And so she resolved to accept him and wait him out.

For he clearly seemed afraid to reach out, to care. And that was a completely different situation than simply _not_ caring at all.

And he had gradually emerged from his shell. Just a little.

And she had seen his gentleness, his sense of humor, his intelligence.

She had seen _him_.

She found that she simply enjoyed his company and decided to let everything flow naturally.

She'd even shared her mutant sticky fingers with him and he in return had presented the Beast to her.

Although she'd been shocked and a little afraid, it had just seemed to fit, to make sense.

Plus, he was a big, blue, cuddly teddybear. _Her_ big, blue, cuddly teddybear. Whether he'd admit it or not.

When she went to college, her world had opened up more.

New friends, new experiences, new interests.

But she had never forgotten about her quiet, reserved Hank.

She _had_ tried, despite what loudmouth Jessie had broadcasted the day before.

She had gone on dates with attractive, interesting guys she thought she might enjoy the company of.

And had always been nice.

But the second the evening would end and their lips would touch in a goodnight kiss, the thought would irrevocably surface.

_Stop that. You're not Hank._

And she would know the infatuation was over.

As a result, Hope had not only many girl friends, but several guy friends as well. Nice guys who enjoyed her company and she enjoyed theirs. And whom she secretly suspected also hung around waiting for her to notice them romantically.

_Sorry. Never gonna happen. Now where's my Hank?_

When she'd gone home, he'd been there. Over and over again. For fun, for comfort, for companionship.

Hank, and his furry, orange-eyed, blue furry form he kept hidden, was always there.

And she'd always wanted to just stay. And always had to convince herself not to.

Because if she stayed, if she put her entire life on hold, then she would be changing to suit him. Denying her importance in life for his. And eventually that would diminish her and she would grow to resent him.

And Hank, with whatever problems he kept so stoically hidden, didn't deserve that.

And neither did she.

And so Hope would resolutely return to her college life, friends, and aspirations.

And she would be glad she did.

Even if it hurt to leave him. So much to miss him.

And then, one day, in the main room, the girls had started screaming in fear and excitement at something on the grainy TV.

And she looked and she saw.

Him. In his beast form, furious and roaring.

And she fretted and she worried.

And then again, the disturbing White House feed. The reports of monsters and machines duking it out before a man who seemed to control metal and hate humans.

She had spent the next month vacillating between stubborn hope and overwhelming despondency.

Her grades suffered, her sleep suffered, her appetite suffered, her personality suffered. Obviously her cleaning suffered.

Her friends didn't understand it and she couldn't tell them why.

_Remember that big, furry, blue guy roaring and fighting on the tv? Well, that's the man I love. And have no idea where he is or if he's okay or what is going on because I'm not psychic and he won't answer the PHONE!_

She would be okay. Then she would cry. Then she would shove it down. And be okay. And then cry all over again.

Her friends worried. Her professors worried. _She_ worried.

And then he had shown up on her doorstep with no warning at all.

In her shock and fury, she'd attacked him.

And he'd given her roses and told her he loved her.

In her love and happiness, she'd kissed him.

And he had talked himself out and she had again decided.

She didn't know what was going on in the world or what was going to happen in the future.

But she was sure about Hank.

And now, she rolled over and opened her brown eyes.

Looked at him exiting the small bathroom.

Tall, lanky, handsome with his wrinkled clothing and slightly mussed dark hair. Bright blue eyes staring owlishly into space behind stern looking glasses.

"Good morning," she murmured, with a stretch and a yawn.

He looked upon her and smiled that crooked little smile of his.

It was a dopey, sweet smile that she loved.

And mostly she loved it because he had no idea how dopey and sweet that smile really was.

_Reserved, intelligent, logical scientist. Big, rough, tough blue beast. Sweet teddy bear at heart. I love you._

She smiled back.

"I know what _I'm_ in the mood for," she announced, without his asking.

Though he tried to hide it, she saw the unspoken thought move through his blue eyes and restrained a giggle. She knew it was important to him to behave like a gentleman to her and she was glad of that. At the same time, it was good to know he had those same thoughts.

_Ah, so you _are_ a guy. Good for you. Just testing the waters. Accidently._

"Breakfast," she concluded firmly.

Past the fleeting disappointment she was certain he didn't know he'd outwardly expressed, she also glimpsed a certain sense of relief. And she was glad of that too. One, it meant he had some principles and two, it meant he was in the same boat as her.

_Ready, but not too ready. Good._

* * *

Hope switched waitressing shifts at her local restaurant job and put off her studies to spend the entire weekend with Hank. She spent nearly every waking and sleeping moment with him because she knew it would be several weeks until they would be together again.

When he finally forced himself to leave late on the third day, she smiled and waved and refused to cry. Because at least now she knew where he was. And that he was okay. And that he loved her. And she could openly love him.

And that, barring some mutant-uprising apocalypse, they would be together again relatively soon.

So she let him go.

Then she throughly cleaned her room and went back to her studies and work with renewed enthusiasm and focus.

It was her last semester of school before graduation in the spring. And there were wonderful little inventions called weekends.

So they could get through anything until then.

* * *

**Any readers out there who question if guys really think like Hank in this chapter and the last? Well, I asked my husband and he confirmed that they do sometimes. And then he flipped the TiVo over to UFC. So, yeah. Multi-faceted then. :)**

**Anybody catch the Journey easter egg? Hmmm?**

**Thanks to MoonlitShadowsoftheHumanSoul (who needs to trust me), I've Been a Labrat (dudes, read her 'The Flash' fic, seriously hilarious), ChiefPam (the peaceful one), Pandiichan (who totally makes sense to me), Shanynde (aww indeed), brigid1318 (and her sweet tooth), and the ever supportive lol (who needs to get an account 'cause they're free) for your reviews. **

**Next up, hmm, wonder about that tattooed soldier boy . . .**


	4. The Power of Ink

I do not own X-Men anything.

You'd think I'd run out of words by now. You'd be wrong.

Reaching Out

Chapter 4 : The Power of Ink

* * *

There were currently only a handful of mutant young mutants who took shelter in Xavier Manor. Most of them had accepted or were in the process of accepting themselves and their abilities.

Then there was Ink.

Ink was not a true mutant, as it turned out.

Ink, whose real name was Eric Gitter, was actually human.

He had grown up in a home for boys, having been abandoned in a cardboard box in front of a hospital as a baby. As a thin, small, shy boy, he had been on the lower hierarchy of the orphan totem pole, frequently picked on and beaten up.

As a result, he had developed into a withdrawn teenager with an incredible amount of anger and resentment stuffed deep inside him. A boy who, on the inside, just wanted to be left alone. Since it was obvious to him that he could not be loved or cared for.

Wandering past a tattoo shop one day, Eric had decided he'd use the money he'd just stolen to get inked. Something that signified danger to his enemies. The owner of the small shop had taken one look at the whip-thin boy covered in bruises and understood more of him than he let on. Actually a very unique mutant, the tattoo artist had secretly imbedded a very specific mutant power into the ink he used to tattoo the boy.

The next time a violent confrontation had found him, Eric had felt had urge to hold his biohazard tattooed palm out and wish his enemies would be too sick to continue their assault.

And they had. And Eric had escaped unscathed.

He had at once felt slightly drained but his exhilaration at being able to fight back against his enemies and stop them from hurting him anymore countered it enough that he did not really mark it.

But he would, in time.

Once Eric had discovered that he could activate the biohazard symbol on his palm to make his targets fall violently, physically ill, he had simultaneously felt substantial guilt over causing another person pain and flooding relief that his days of being bullied were finally over.

He had figured out that every time he used his power, he was tired and weak afterward. Suspicions arose in his mind regarding the correlation between his tattoo session and the abrupt presentation of his powers. So he had gone back to the tattoo artist and talked to him again, pleading for the truth.

And finally, the man had told him the truth.

The specialized tattoo ink and the symbology of the chosen design imbibed Eric with mutant ability. He had none of his own. The power lay in the ink.

Every time Eric called upon his power, it would drain his strength and lifeforce. If he drained himself completely, he would proverbially become a 'real boy' again without any mutant ability at all.

And then he would die.

Eric, both terrified and thrilled at the prospect of having any ability he wished, had gone out into the world and witnessed the destruction of humanity.

And resolutely returned time and again to acquire more power tattoos.

Holding a gutshot woman as she bled to death in his arms prompted him to request a Caduceus symbol on his right hand that gifted him the ability to heal wounds.

Lacking the muscle to pull a dying teenage girl out from under a wrecked car, he had requested a tattoo on his left hand to enhance his strength.

After being sliced in a knife fight, his tattoo artist gifted him with a thick banding sleeve on his left arm to render his flesh near impervious.

The symbol tattooed on his right bicep to allow him to create small explosions. Which he immensely enjoyed one underage drunken Fourth of July. Though he used it so much, he eventually passed out in the street and had to be carried back to the orphanage by equally drunk companions who awoke the next day with unclear understandings of just what had actually transpired.

Matching lightning bolts tattooed on either side of his shaved head granted him a slight telepathic ability for reading minds.

Sitting high up on the roof of an apartment building one night, he long envied the freedom of a soaring bird. It inspired him to endure several long days of extensive tattooing at the end of which resulted in pair of wings on his back that granted him the gift of flight.

Eric had tested his powers carefully over the few short years he had possessed them.

He found out that different powers drained him to different extents. His illness inducing ability and his banded arm weakened him only slightly, increasing his drain with the numbers of targets stricken and attacks averted. The explosion tattoo weakened him depending on the size and frequency of the blasts he created. The distance and speed of his flight tired him the longer and higher he soared. And if he drained himself too much, he, like the fated Icarus, would plummet from the heavens to his doom.

The Caduceus and telepathy tattoos were quite powerful and had proven dangerous enough to render him blind with migraines or even catatonic with extended usages.

When he was drafted into service for the Vietnam War, his tattoo artist had insisted on gifting him one final ability. Chanting powerful, esoteric words, the man had painfully tattooed an intricate phoenix force symbol over Eric's right eye. With it, he could manipulate cosmic energies as well as absorb and redirect forces of physical energy.

The phoenix force symbol was the most powerful and dangerous ability he possessed. The use of it could quite possibly kill him even as it wrought mass destruction to whatever he unleashed it upon.

The mutant tattoo artist had warned that it was only to be used as a last resort. Then he had tearfully and lovingly kissed the young man upon the forehead and wished him luck.

When Eric went back to say one final goodbye, the shop was closed up and the man gone. Without a trace. A handwritten sign on the door had simply read 'No More'.

Whatever that meant, well, Erik just wasn't certain. He had turned away, once more alone.

And so Eric Gitter, with special abilities imbedded into his black-stained flesh, had become the pseudo-mutant, Ink.

A wayward, lost, lonely boy with the powers of life and death held within his unassuming human frame.

The army had sent him to fight, to die, in land of hidden dangers and massive bloodshed. He had kept his head down and lied about his tattoos. He only used his powers when no other option seemed available. And he never, ever used the phoenix force symbol.

He had been branded, as always, a freak and an outsider. Those whose lives he saved withdrew from him in fear and confusion. But he had trudged on, without true friend or ally.

And ended up being singled out anyway and put in a tent in Saigon for further testing.

Two of the other guys in the nearly empty space had seemed just as freakish as him.

A guy with quills for hair.

A warty guy wearing goggles.

The third, a normal looking blond man, didn't seem to belong there. But looking into his eyes, Ink had seen that he did. But neither words nor camaraderie had ever been Ink's strong suit so he did not speak or reach out.

He sat and waited.

Blood samples, hair samples, urine samples, skin samples, saliva samples.

It seemed they wanted to take everything from him.

And wouldn't even tell him why. Except to say his country needed him.

Needed him for what?

His feeling of disquiet and danger had grown stronger and stronger making him more jittery and afraid than he'd ever felt in his short life.

He had been contemplating ways of escape. Fully aware that there was little possibility of it, given the many soldiers swarming everywhere. And enemies lurking in the trees. He had felt like a targeted animal trapped in a squeezing cage.

Until she had arrived, cloaked in the form of a male military officer and rescued them all.

Her.

The naked, scaly, blue woman with hypnotizing, yellow eyes.

The blond guy had seemed to know her. Called her Raven. Which apparently had not been her name.

She had saved them. Well, with just a little help. Which didn't exactly seem to appreciate.

And put them on a plane home to the States.

Home.

Except Ink had no home. Just like the other soldiers the blue woman had put on the plane. Homeless. Friendless.

So after they'd landed in Washington D.C., they had stuck together. Except the blond guy, who'd left. But he could do that. He who could pass for normal.

Ink and Max, who hid his cranial quills under skullcaps, had taken jobs working as garbage collectors, unnoticed, unseen by those they served. Much like Morty who hid his warty, goggled face behind a dishwasher at a local dive.

When Ink had seen the helmeted mutant speak his powerful words during the White House siege, he had felt pulled to action.

And remembered the last thing the blond guy had said to him.

"If you want to be safe, get to 'Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters'. They're mutants like us."

And he'd given Ink a piece of paper with an address on it.

He'd convinced the others to go. If they couldn't find the leader in the helmet, at least they might be able to find _somebody_.

And so they'd found Charles Xavier, a congenial wheelchair-bound telepath. And his reclusive scientist friend.

Not exactly an army of mutants.

But at least it was somebody.

So they stayed. For a while at least.

* * *

And so it was that Charles Xavier and Hank McCoy met Ink. A true anomaly in a world of mutant anomalies.

When Charles had detected his secret human condition and spoken to him about it, Ink hung his head dejectedly.

"So I guess I have to leave now, huh?" Then mumbling under his breath, "Just when I was starting to feel like I could fit."

Charles gave him an incredulous look. Hank remained pensive and observant.

"Leave? Why would we ask you to leave, Ink?"

Neither man ever called him 'Eric'. He wasn't sure why. He guessed it didn't matter. The young tattooed man looked blankly at him in the wheelchair, feeling his anger rising.

" 'Cause I don't belong here either. I never belong _anywhere_."

Charles smiled warmly.

"You belong, Ink, because we _say_ you belong. And we would like you to belong. Wouldn't we, Hank?"

Hank, his scientific brain humming with possibility and interest, responded succinctly.

"Yes, definitely."

Ink dared to look hopeful.

"Really?"

Both older men nodded to him. Charles spoke again.

"Whether your powers came from your genes or from an outside force, it doesn't matter. They are yours to control now. We are _glad_ you are here."

And shy Ink finally smiled. It was small, hopeful, and tentative. But it was a smile nonetheless.

After he left, Hank turned to Charles, grim-faced.

"His powers are astounding."

Charles nodded, equally solemn.

"He may be the most diversely powered mutant on the planet."

Again Charles nodded.

"That kind of power can be corruptible."

A third time, Charles concurred.

"It's very dangerous, what he may be capable of."

The men stood quiet for a moment, musing over the endless possibilities. Finally, Charles spoke.

"It's all the more important then for us to teach him, to teach them all, the importance of responsibility, of principle. Without it, we will all undoubtedly destroy each other."

* * *

**In the comics, Ink utilizing his powers drained his tattoo artist, not him. But that seemed cumbersome to me so I changed it. But the tattoos powering his mutations and the tattoos themselves are cannon and very interesting to me. Haven't done that one on InkMaster yet. So far as I know. ha**

**And of course the backstory is all mine. No, the tattoo artist was not being creepy. But after a while, a lot of people felt like men were just being sent to the war to die. And the guy cared about Eric. Otherwise, he wouldn't have spent so much time on him, right?**

**Yay, Google for presenting me with the actual names of our mutant soldier boys. Max is Quill, Morty (Mortimer, actually) is Toad, and well, you know all about Ink now. And for good reason. But we'll get to that later.**

**Thanks to my beautiful brigid1318, a hopeful MoonlitShadowsoftheHumanSoul, the ever jolly I've Been a Labrat, Voodoo-Mutant-Child (and her Morticia Addams), Pandiichan (who's ready for a smack-_down_, baby), the thought-provoking ChiefPam, and decisive lol (touché, sweetie *winks) for keeping up with your faithful reviews.**

**Next up, Hope meets Charles. And she has got something to say to _him_. :D**


	5. A Serious Talking To

I do not own X-Men anything.

You'd think I'd run out of words by now. You'd be wrong. ;)

Reaching Out

Chapter 5: A Serious Talking To

* * *

Hank waited anxiously at the bus stop. Hope's bus was due to arrive at any moment. She'd insisted on coming in on the bus as opposed allowing Hank to pick her up at her university. Something about extra study time.

He didn't argue too much. So long as she was on her way to him, he was happy.

That being said, it was a challenge for Hank to refrain from obsessing over engine breakdowns, explosive traffic collisions, crazed gun-toting extremists, and roadside food poisoning.

So when the Greyhound drove up on time and without apparent dents, bullet holes, or fiery parts, Hank felt a surge of excitement and relief, while his heart simultaneously dropped down into his feet. He stood as still as he could, watching each person disembark the bus.

It seemed they moved as slowly as cosmically possible.

Of course, they didn't.

But Hank could swear they did.

After all, it had been a month since he'd last seen his Hope.

And Hank was tired of waiting.

He thought he glimpsed her at the back of the line wearing a multi-colored striped sweater and jeans but he couldn't be sure. Because something else caught his attention instead.

A little old lady wearing a print dress carrying a large suitcase was stuck on the last step. The driver, whom Hank visualized throttling, was too busy with his magazine to bother with her.

So Hank moved forward and lifted the heavy suitcase for her . . .

_What's in here? Rocks?_

. . . and held out his hand to assist her.

She put her small, wrinkled hand in his, peeking up at him under the brim of her prim, white hat.

"Well, thank you, dear. What a kind young man you are."

He smiled and nodded, guiding her over to the sidewalk. An older gentleman in a rumpled grey suit suddenly appeared at her side and pecked the her on the cheek, startling her.

"Frank, not in public! What would people think?" she gently chastised, smiling.

He kissed her hand and winked over at Hank.

"That you're just as beautiful as the day I met you."

The elderly lady blushed right up to her curled gray hair and Hank smiled affably, thinking of Hope. Then the gentleman nodded his appreciation to Hank who nodded back as the older man took the suitcase in hand.

Pensively, Hank watched the elderly couple slowly walk away.

Then . . .

"_Hank!"_

Turning, he saw her the second before Hope launched herself into his embrace, wrapping her arms around his neck, clutching his hips with her knees. He caught her instinctively, staggering back a few steps as the force of her blow knocked the wind out of him.

_Oh, my spleen!_

She kissed him soundly then. He kissed her back, blinded by the bright sun and her bright light, breathless and overwhelmed at the sudden arrival of her physical presence in his life once again.

He set her down on her feet, continuing to kiss her for a few moments before she retracted her sticky mutant fingers and released her hold on his face.

Apparently, they had made a bit of a spectacle of themselves because a few bystanders were clapping appreciatively as he opened his eyes and looked around. Blushing, he re-adjusted his glasses on his face and glanced at her. She was smiling and laughing, her face flushed and beautiful.

Then with glorious aplomb and dignity, Hope unabashedly curtsied a little to their admirers as Hank steadily continued turned a brilliant shade of red next to her.

Picking up the bag that she had unceremoniously dumped onto the ground before throwing herself into his arms, Hope kissed him again, grinning.

"Come on, loverboy. Let's get out of here."

They made their way over to the car, Hope's right arm tucked comfortably in his left. Hank opened the passenger door for her and she slipped inside, murmuring her appreciation to him before tossing her bag over into the backseat. Shutting her door, he walked across to the driver's side. As he went, he saw her lean over, pop the door latch, and push it open for him.

He nearly walked into it, so caught up was he in admiring her.

_Liberated but not too liberated. She even wears a bra. Not that I've noticed. Well, maybe a little._

He got behind the wheel, shutting the door and turning on the car just as Hope planted another kiss on his cheek. Then she grinned, drew a knee up under her, and spoke with whimsical grandeur.

"Take me home, my chauffeur."

His countenance fell slightly.

"Oh, okay."

Hope rolled her eyes and reached out to playfully tug on his ear.

"_No_, take me home with _you_, Hank."

Now Hank smiled.

"Yes, ma'am."

Hope cast a meaningful look in his direction, her tone turning austere.

"I want to meet this . . . _Charles_ _Xavier_. We have some things to discuss."

Curious, Hank put the car in drive and began the journey.

_Oh boy, this should be interesting._

* * *

As they turned the circle of the driveway, Hope's breath caught in her throat.

_Oh . . . wow. Now, _that's_ a castle, man._

She glanced over at Hank who apparently did not notice they had inexplicably taken a left turn into England.

Upon exiting the vehicle, Hope stood in awe, staring at the huge stone structure.

Clearing her throat, she spoke lightly, attempting to quell her sudden attack of nerves.

"You know, a lesser woman would ask where the servants' entrance was and then go in through there."

Hank looked at her, an amused expression on his handsome face . She paused, then shrugged and spoke defiantly.

"Well, come on. I'm going in the front door."

And he smiled at her and her indefatigable poise.

* * *

Hank guided her through the foyer without encountering any of the other inhabitants currently dwelling in the manor and through to Charles' study.

Charles was at his desk, perusing some documents. He looked up as they approached and smiled warmly. Leaving the papers, he guided his chair over to them as Hope stood still and silent with Hope beside him.

Charles' hair was still long but combed neatly back from his face. His once scruffy beard was now closely shorn and groomed. He wore neat, comfortable, clean clothing and no longer smelled of alcohol. His clear, blue eyes were welcoming.

All in all, Hank surmised, a vast improvement over the man Logan had come to beseech help from over two months ago.

Hank made the introductions.

"Hope, I'd like you to meet Charles Xavier. Charles, this is my friend, Hope."

As Charles opened his mouth, Hope corrected Hank's error decisively.

"_Girlfriend_. I'm Hank's _girlfriend_."

Hank blushed at his self-conscious omission as Hope cut her eyes sideways at him, a flicker of a smile in her eyes. Charles looking slightly bemused at them both.

"Well, it's wonderful to meet you, Hope," he said, holding out his hand. "I have heard many good things about you."

Hope tilted her head slightly, every trace of a smile disappearing from her lovely face.

"I wish I could say the same of you, Chuck."

Both Charles' and Hank's eyebrows nearly migrated into their hairlines. Charles' proffered hand wilted slightly. Hank nearly fell over.

_Chuck?! _

Hope crossed her arms sternly over her chest, gazing coldly at the master of the house.

"So _you're_ the one who caused Hank so much misery. Drinking and denying your gifts and acting like a fool?"

Hank's mouth dropped open slightly. Charles appeared to be in a state of shock. For comfort and stability, he clasped his hands together before speaking.

"Well, uh, yes actually. But that was some time ago . . ."

Hope interrupted.

"Yeah, Hank said that. He said you're off your self-pitying high horse now and acting like a decent human being again."

_Well, I didn't phrase it quite _that_ way. Hope, what are you _doing_?_

_Leave me alone, Hank. I have to concentrate. This is a one time thing and it's taking all the guts I have._

Charles could only manage simple words.

"Well, yes, that's one way to put it."

Hope narrowed her eyes further.

"And you're going to _stay_ that way?"

Charles nodded his assent, feeling like a small child in trouble with the disapproving nanny.

"Yes, I am."

Hope relaxed a little. Just a little.

"Well, good. 'Cause I'd hate to have to have to kick your . . ."

At her crude word, Hank had to bite his tongue to refrain from bursting into astonished laughter.

" . . . if you didn't."

Then she stopped talking, standing completely still and Hank could not process the fact that his sweet, gentle Hope had just _cursed_ at Charles Xavier.

Hope's direct gaze bore like a drill right through Charles' skull. He felt, well, _skewered_.

The moment stretched out between the two of them. Hank waited on pins and needles for the other shoe to drop.

Then Hope's face flipped and she smiled her bright sunny smile, speaking once more. This time in her normal, kind, Hope voice.

"I _am_ happy to meet you, Charles Xavier. And I'm so very glad you've both come through everything you have."

And then she leaned forward and hugged the bewildered man while Hank absently wondered who had switched the television station.

"Thank you, Hope," Charles managed.

He looked incredously over Hope's shoulder at Hank, his eyes full of questions. All Hank could do was stare.

Then Hope released the master of the house and pointedly turned her back on him. She returned to Hank and discreetly whispered to him.

"Where is the ladies'?"

He murmured short directions and she thanked him and then spoke a little louder to them both.

"If you'll excuse me, gentlemen."

* * *

When she was gone, Charles and Hank stared at each other in silence for a moment. Charles spoke first.

"Does she usually . . . talk like that?"

Hank shook his head, aghast.

'First time I've ever heard it in five years."

Charles nodded sincerely, looking slightly shell-shocked. After a moment, he found his voice again.

"Well, actually, Hank," he said a little unsteadily. "I quite like her. Well done."

And Hank's lopsided smile reflected in Charles' face as well.

After a moment, the man in the chair spoke again, thoughtfully.

"We might want to refrain from making her mad though, yes?"

They chuckled together though they were completely serious.

Then Hank had an amusing thought.

_Logan would absolutely love her. _

And another.

_But not near as much as me._

And a third.

_Man, that was so hot._

* * *

In the bathroom, Hope shakily braced her hands on the sink, staring at her reflection.

_Oh my gosh, I cannot believe I just did that. I _never_ do that. I know I _planned_ to do it but actually _doing_ it is a whole other thing entirely._

She drew a deep shaky breath and put a hand on her stomach.

_Oh man, I think I'm going to throw up. _

A deeper, darker part of her spoke up. The voice of the fighter Hope.

_No you're not. You're just fine. It needed to be said and now it's done. Let it go, walk out there, and be his friend now. _

She washed her hands literally and figuratively of the whole situation, rinsed out her mouth with cold water, and looked at her reflection once more.

_And if he pulls any more idiotic stunts . . . then you can kill him._

* * *

**Alright, how was _that_? See, she doesn't even have to punch him to punch him! (Yes, I wrote that twice on purpose.) Go Team Hope!**

**'Liberated, but not too liberated.' ~ Okay, Hank's not a male chauvinist pig or anything. He just enjoying someone who's not really extreme.**

**No, Hope's not schizophrenic or bipolar or a witch or any of that stuff. She's just ready to fight for Hank. As well she should be.**

**Also, Hope and Hank aren't psychically linked or anything. They're just really in tune with each other. Plus, it adds to the fun as Pandiichan has previously pointed out.**

**Hope's verbal assault on Charles was inspired by I've Been a Labrat. Who, like a lot of us, is all out of cares to give for Charles' bs.**

**Thanks to Shanynde, ABewilderedBear, lol, MoonlitShadowsoftheHumanSoul, ChiefPam, I've Been a Labrat, and brigid1318 for reviewing.**

**Thanks to Aletta-Feather and Magic Detective for adding your support to this tale.**

**Let's see. Who else is in Xavier Manor? Find out tomorrow . . .**


	6. Meet the Boys

I do not own X-Men anything.

You'd think I'd run out of words by now. You'd be wrong.

Reaching Out

Chapter 6: Meet the Boys

* * *

"I want to see your lab, Hank. I've never been in a laboratory before. Well, not one with you in it anyway."

Hank nodded, gesturing.

"Okay, it's down the hall here."

Hope leaned in, whispering conspiratorially as they strolled away from Charles' study.

"Are there dead bodies in there?"

Hank shook head, smiling.

"No."

Then, pasting a serious expression on his face, he added, "I removed them this morning before you got here."

She laughed then and it was a beautiful sound to Hank, who remembered the cloying, heavy silence of the manor during the last several years.

Alex Summers suddenly appeared in the hall, walking toward them. His blond hair was still military short and he appeared to have gained a little muscle while in service to his country. As of now, he was wearing a white t-shirt, jeans, and tennis shoes.

He grinned at Hank.

"Hey, Beast. You didn't stay blue."

Though he spoke with a smirk, the smile in his eyes was genuine. He held out his hand and Hank shook it briefly before responding.

"No. Well, not all the time. I didn't know you were back."

Alex nodded.

"Yeah, I got here just a little while ago. Tried to go home but that didn't work out so I thought I'd . . ."

He surreuptiously glanced over at Hope who smiled politely.

"Well, _hello_ . . . I'm Alex."

Alex smiled in a way he surely thought was charming. She responded in a friendly tone.

"I'm Hope. Are you a student?"

Alex shrugged and nodded.

"Sort of. I mean, I have been."

Hank watched the interaction with something near gleeful anticipation. Alex had no idea about Hope at all.

_Careful, man, she's already dispatched Charles. And she is _good_ too. Like a beautiful, sticky-fingered ninja._

"And what's your mutant ability?" Hope asked conversationally.

Alex hesitated for a second before responding. Force of old habit, Hank supposed. He hated to admit he understood.

"Um, I can throw destructive power rings."

Hope nodded casually.

"Cool."

Alex was obviously trying not to appear to be looking Hope up and down. Which is exactly what he _was_ doing.

"And you . . ."

She raised a hand and wiggled her fingers.

"Adhesive fingers."

Alex smiled again and spoke dryly, obviously thinking he was being charismatic.

"Maybe we should call you 'Sticky Fingers McGee'."

She quirked an eyebrow at him. Alex probably thought she was impressed by his wit. Hank suspected she had already caught on to his game. He waited it out with interest.

"Naw. People usually just call me 'Hope'. What do they call you? 'Ring of Fire'?"

Hank attempted to cover a snort of laughter as a cough. He covered his smirking mouth with one hand, looking away nonchanltly.

_I love you, Hope. Marry me. Marry me now. _

Alex apparently thought Hope was flirting with him because he grinned back and folded his arms over his chest.

"Well, actually, they call me . . ."

And trailed off as he watched her completely ignore him and thread her fingers through Hank's, gifting him with a fond glance.

". . . Ha - _voc_ . . . uh, okayyy . . ."

Alex, stunned, remained quiet and still while Hope spoke to Hank with a laugh in her voice and mischief in her warm brown eyes.

"Well, it seems you fellas have some catching up to do. So I'll just excuse myself and wander the creepy mansion corridors alone then, shall I? It should be fun," she quipped.

Hank positively adored her as she put a hand to his cheek and stretched up to kiss him lightly on the lips. Then she pointedly looked at Alex. Who was trying his best not to stare.

"Nice to meet you, Alex."

Then Hope wandered away, her dark ponytail bouncing as she went. Both men watched her go.

Alex cast his gaze back to Hank with his eyebrows raised. Finally, he spoke.

"Really?"

Hank said nothing, only smiled and nodded. He didn't have to speak. Hope had already done all the talking for him. Alex blinked with an impressed, slightly baffled, expression.

"Wow. _Nice_."

Hank knew Alex was trying not to be condescending.

"So how'd you pull _that_ off?"

And that he was failing. Poorly.

Hank shrugged.

"I looked up."

Alex appeared confused.

"Huh?"

Hank shook his head with a distant smile, thinking it was over. But then of course with Alex nothing was _ever_ quite over.

"And she knows about the beast too?"

Hank nodded and shrugged.

"Well, well, I bet _that_ gets fun . . ."

Alex stated suggestively and Hank rolled his eyes, trying not to blush. He said nothing though his brain short circuited a little.

_Hmmm . . ._

* * *

When Hank caught up with Hope, she leaning against the doorframe of the Xavier Manor game room. Morty, holding a pool cue, was grinning behind his googles.

" . . . play pool at school but I don't usually set the bets for anything but soda and chocolate," she was saying.

Morty shrugged and started to speak. Then faltered as Hank strolled up.

"Hey," Hope greeted him happily. "Morty here thinks we should play a friendly game of billiards for high stakes. What do you think?"

Hank looked at Morty who didn't know whether to be scared or not. The other two men further in the room pretended to not be craning their necks to see and hear the conversation.

"I think he's a pool shark who'll skin you alive," Hank said amicably.

_He did me. I had to take lavatory cleaning duty for two weeks. Ugh._

Hope quirked her eyebrows mysteriously at both of them.

"Oh, _really_?" She replied. "How very _interesting_."

And swept past both males to go inspect the pool cues. She waved at a black guy sitting on a stool who appeared to have quills protruding from his face. He just stared as she sashayed by.

"Are you playing too?" she asked sociably.

He shook his head, pretending not to stare.

"Okay. Well, how about you?" she asked the pale, bald guy with a tattooed face who was eyeballing her warily.

He shook his head without speaking either.

"That's too bad," she said, casually. "Maybe next time, then."

Neither men responded, only watched her carefully. They probably were waiting for her to make fun of them or be scared of them.

_Poor guys. I actually think they look kinda cool_, Hope thought.

Morty and Hank followed behind Hope. Morty approached the table while Hank took a stool next to Max and Ink.

From the transistor radio in the corner, music serenaded the inhabitants of the large room.

'You're the cutest thing that I ever did see; I really love your peaches; wanna shake your tree'

_Has this song always been this . . . forward? We should really change the station or something, _Hank thought vaguely.

Simultaneously there arose two visions behind Hank's blue eyes. One was hilarious in which he held Hope's waist and shook her from side to side until her eyes spun cartoon style and peaches dropped out of her long, dark hair. The second vision involved the billiards table and, well, an entirely _different_ set of emotions.

Then he noticed Hope smiling mischievously at him and he melted. Right along with the other three guys though they tried to keep it hidden.

_What? I wasn't thinking anything. What're we doing? Oh right, billiards. Yep. I knew that._

Chalking her chosen cue, Hope perused the table. Neatly set and ready for play.

"Mind if I break?" she asked Morty.

The devilish gleam in her warm, brown eyes suddenly led him to consider that he might just be in for trouble.

Even so, he gestured casually to the table and she took her mark.

"Stripes," she called out.

And broke. All four guys' mouths dropped open at her expertly controlled precision.

_This should be fun_, she thought with a twinkle in her eye.

* * *

Forty-five minutes and best two out of three games later, Hope had completely wiped the floor with the astonished, warty ex-soldier boy. Who despite owing her a soda, a chocolate bar, and all of Hank's lavatory cleaning duties for _three_ weeks, was grinning broadly.

Ink and Max were pretending not to chuckle at their friend who had just been utterly smashed at his favorite past time.

Lightly kissing the tips of her fingers, she gently touched them to Morty's bumpy cheek without a hint of discomfort.

"Thanks for the games, sweetie."

Hope grinned at him and turned to Hank while behind them, Morty fell completely in love.

"Now where's your laboratory? I've got a little time to kill while Morty finds me a soda and a chocolate bar," she stated, singsonging her voice on the last two words.

Hank shook his head at the bright ray of sunlight of a woman that suddenly swept through Xavier Manor.

"You know they worship you now, right?" he murmured as they walked away down the hall together, hand in hand.

Her only response was a playful, happy wink. Hank grinned.

_This is going to be a great weekend._

* * *

Later, Hank was alone making a sandwich in the kitchen while Hope called her mother.

Putting the ingredients away in the fridge, Hank saw Alex and Morty enter the space. Grabbing sodas, they sat at the counter.

"So, what's Charles planning on doing with us?" Alex asked.

Hank shrugged.

"I'm not certain. You'll have to ask him."

Alex took a swig from the ice cold bottle, seeming to thoroughly enjoy the taste of the sweet syrupy liquid.

"Well, if we're going to train again, we should come up with a new name for our team. What do you think, Morty?"

The warty guy grinned and Hank wondered for perhaps the thousandth time what his eyes looked like behind the goggles.

"Los Mutantes Loco," he joked, grinning.

Alex nodded.

"Not too bad, not too bad. Hey, if we get Hope to stay, we can be the Crazy Mutants Plus One Hot Chick."

Hank sighed, exasperated.

"Really?" he asked Alex. "She's my . . . girlfriend."

Morty snapped his fingers suddenly as if remembering something important, then wandered off to peruse the snackables in the cabinets. Alex shrugged at Hank, drinking more of his soda.

"What? You think now that I respect you and all, I'm going to be all sincere and huggy? Come on, man. You know me."

Hank took a second to process what Alex had just said.

"You . . . respect me?"

Alex nodded, looking only mildly sheepish.

"Well, yeah. I always did, but I was just . . ." Alex trailed off, studying his cola bottle. "War changes you, man. Shaw's. Vietnam. I don't know."

Hank stayed quiet. Alex drank some more and finally spoke with sincerity.

"Oh, come on. Of course I respect you. You're my friend, Hank. You know that."

Morty held up a Snickers bar and a Three Musketeers bar, waving them at Hank questioningly.

"Snickers," Hank said automatically. "She likes nuts."

Alex grinned.

"Yeah, apparently she does. Right, Beast?"

Hank looked at him, aggravated. Alex grinned around his cola bottle.

"What? You think now that we're all friends and stuff, I'm not going to pick on you and your hot girlfriend? Come on, Beast, somebody's got to keep you from getting a big head."

Hank considered him for a long moment and finally smiled a little.

"Whatever, Ring of Fire."

* * *

**No angst, you say? Too light and fluffy, you say? Oh come on, let's have some fun here, people.**

**And I do like Alex but hey we gotta have a little fun here 'cause he always picked on Hank, right? :)**

**That was the Steve Miller Band with 'The Joker' 'cause I have never shot pool in a quiet room. It's just wrong.**

**Can't you just see those four guys in a row looking all dopey like 'oooh, she's purty . . .'**

**Anyway, thanks to Pazithia . Gallifreya, brigid1318, Aletta-Feather, MoonlitShadowsoftheHumanSoul, ABewilderedBear, lol, and Shanynde for your enthusiastic reviews.**

**Thanks also to WizardDragon, Imagination Queen, and TheShadowCat008 for adding your support to this tale and chatting with me.**

**Okay, tomorrow, Hank gets taken way out of his comfort zone. No, no, get your head out of the gutter. *Tsk, tsk.**


	7. Grandma's Big Blue

I do not own X-Men anything.

You'd think I'd run out of words by now. You'd be wrong.

Reaching Out

Chapter 7: Grandma's Big Blue

* * *

"You know, abolishing your lavatory cleaning duties for a whole three weeks was a real stroke of genius," Hope proclaimed, grinning with pride at her accomplishment.

_Yes, yes it was, my beautiful pool shark. _

"So, in recompense, would you be willing to . . ."

_Yes._

" . . . come to my parent's house for supper tonight?"

_Oh, uh . . ._

"Sure," he said easily.

Hope smiled up at him.

"Really?"

Hank shrugged.

"Of course."

She hugged him happily. And kissed him. He let her.

* * *

Hank studied his reflection carefully.

_I remember looking in this mirror and being shocked to see a human guy looking back at me. _

He studied it again.

_Now I'm still shocked to see a human guy with a real girlfriend. Wearing a suit._

There was a knock at the door. Living in the same abode as Alex and Morty, inspired him to keep his door locked.

Hope breezed into the room with a smile as he let her in.

She had changed out of her sweater and jeans and sneakers and removed her hair from its ponytail.

Her simply brushed, long, dark hair and light application of make-up were purposefully low-maintenance and allowed her natural beauty to shine through.

She now wore a knee-length, wine-colored dress that perfectly complemented her coloring and figure. Modern, yet modest, soft and flowing. The empire waisted bodice was cut peasant style and the sleeves gathered at her elbows with string ties. Across the bodice and a horizontal decorative band sewn several inches above the knee were stitched yellow and red cherry blossom accents.

Hank, being a guy, didn't know all the details of her dress. He just knew she looked amazing.

On her feet, she wore plain black slippers.

_I bet those toenails are still orange too._

She hugged him, kissed him and then looked appraisingly at his attire.

"Hank, are we going to a funeral?"

Baffled, Hank replied.

"Uh, no. I don't think so. Why?"

Hope tried to be kind, playfully tugging his tie loose.

"I don't think my house is exactly suit-worthy. May I look for something else?"

He nodded agreeably and she turned toward his closet.

Though Hank had retired his stuffy old man wardrobe several years ago, no one could mistake him for a clothes horse. There wasn't a huge selection.

Finally Hope pulled out a long-sleeved, blue button-up shirt and khaki pants. Holding the shirt up to him, she smiled.

"Oh, this is going to make your eyes look amazing," she said happily. "Well, _more_ amazing."

He smiled a little, blushing.

"Really?"

Hope rolled her eyes.

"Of course," she said. "Are you blind?"

Hank shook his head, staring at her.

"No. I can see _you_. And you're beautiful. Outside and in."

It was Hope's turn to blush. She kissed him as she did so.

"Don't worry. I promise I won't always try to dress you," she said. "I'm not that kind of woman."

He shrugged, inwardly refusing to contemplate her _un_dressing him.

"I don't care."

She grinned, handed him his clothes, and left the room, closing the door behind her.

Hank redressed and found her downstairs talking to Charles.

". . . a place to become comfortable with themselves and their abilities, learn to control them so they can, you know, just live and enjoy life instead of being so scared all the time," Hope was saying.

She bade goodbye to Charles and turned to her now more casually dressed boyfriend.

_Much better. Whoa, get a load of those dreamy blue eyes._

"Ready for this?" she asked, her face upturned to his, her arms curling around him.

_Oh yeah. _

"Well then, let's go visiting."

_Yep, ready for that too._

* * *

Upon meeting Hank, Hope's mother, a friendly woman in a print blouse and burgundy pants, greeted Hank by pulling him into a hug.

"Oh, it's so nice to finally meet you, Hank! Hope has told us so much about you!"

Hank tried hard to not be awkward as he was hugged by a total stranger. When she released him, he turned and was suddenly faced with Hope's father. A clean cut man a few inches shorter than Hank with a receding hairline and penetrating brown eyes. Who obviously wasn't yet sure if he wanted to like the younger man yet or not.

"Hello, Hank. Good to meet you."

Hank shook his hand, trying not to appear nervous.

"Hello, sir."

_I never touched her, I swear. She never kissed me either. Honest._

Hank looked toward Hope, who murmured something to her mother, causing both women to look at him and chuckle.

_Uh . . . what'd I do?_

Hope stepped toward him, linked her arm in his, and escorted him into the living room.

"I want you to meet my grandma," Hope whispered.

_More new people. Okay, I got this._

Entering the living room, Hank noticed a family sized fireplace, now cold with the oncoming warmth of summer. Upon the mantelpiece stood a framed, folded American flag next to a portrait of a young smiling man in an army uniform. A hand written card next to the picture read,'We will always love you, Tom'.

Hope's brother.

Hank felt a twinge of sadness for the guy he'd only briefly met once and then his thoughts turned toward the others that had been lost. The mutants that Charles could no longer find, no longer see, their signatures vanished from sight.

Before his thoughts could turn any darker, Hope let go of him suddenly. Feeling adrift in familiar territory without her reassuring anchor, he turned and saw her embrace the slightly plump figure on the couch.

An older lady in a blue and green plaid dress was settled on the comfortably worn, brown couch. Her grey hair was done up in a simple twist and she wore large, thick glasses. Hank could see a reminder Hope's warm eyes in her wrinkled visage.

"Hey, Grandma!" Hope asked, kissing the lady's cheek and sitting comfortably next to her.

The woman smiled and ran a gentle hand over Hope's cheek, knitting temporarily forgotten in her lap.

"Well, hello, sweetie. How've you been?"

Hope turned and looked up at Hank.

"I'm fine. Grandma, this is my boyfriend, Hank."

The older lady peered up at Hank.

"Well, he's a tall one. Sit down next to me, dear, so I can see you."

Apprehensively Hank did as requested and sat down on the couch beside her.

"Hmmm . . ." the lady said, peering at him closely. "Oh, he _is_ a handsome one, isn't he?"

Hope grinned as Hank blushed, glancing at her.

"Do you ride hogs, Hank?"

_No, I'm not really a farm type person, actually._

Hank shook his head, wondering what corner the conversation had veered into.

"No, ma'am."

Hope restrained a giggle.

_I bet he's lost and confused chasing pigs right about now._

Hope's grandmother sighed.

"Well, that's a pity. We've still got Tom's old bike in the garage just gathering dust. He used to take me for rides after supper. But now since he's gone . . ." her voice trailed off for a moment before coming back. "I thought you could ride me since Harold hid the keys and won't teach me to ride alone on account of my eyesight."

Hope grinned just out of eyeline of her grandmother and mouthed to Hank '_blind as a bat' _to which Hank resolutely held a straight face.

The aforementioned Harold suddenly appeared and sat down in his recliner, paper in hand.

"Now, Mother, you know you've got no business on motorcycles."

The old lady huffed.

"I'm sixty-six years old, Harold. I think I'd do just fine, thank you."

While Harold continued to gently argue with his mother-in-law, Hank politely excused himself to the facilities. As he was exiting, he found Hope waiting for him in the hall.

"Hey," she said, wrapping him up in a warm hug. "You, okay?"

He nodded.

"You're doing great, you know. They really like you."

He frowned.

"What about your dad? I thought he was going to punch me."

_I've been punched enough, Hope._

Hope shrugged, smiling mischievously.

"I'm his little girl. Just don't grope me at the table and he'll be fine. Time for supper, by the way."

_Well, now that I've got that image in my head . . ._

_Let's see him eat with that image in his head . . ._

Suddenly from the living room, Hank heard Hope's grandmother's voice call out.

"Where's Hope's cute boyfriend? Big Blue, honey? Come help a little old lady to the dinner table, please."

Hank nearly face-planted the floor.

_Growl?_

_I don't know. How could she know? If Hope's grandmother is a mutant, I'm going to have a freak out._

_Growl. _

_Yep, that's a great idea, Beast. Put Hope's scarf-knitting, hog-riding, blind-as-a-bat grandmother up against Erik. She'd cream him for sure. Especially if she's anything like her granddaughter._

Hank looked at Hope in alarm. She leaned over him.

"It's your eyes, Hank."

He frowned, confused.

"I thought you said she was as blind as a bat."

Hope winked.

"Well, anybody can see those peepers."

Hank stood motionless for a moment, still dumbfounded.

"Big Blue? You coming, honey?"

Hope dissolved into giggles as Hank managed his only reply.

"Yes, ma'am."

Hank took a deep breath, and Hope gifted him with a small smoothing kiss. Then 'Big Blue' went to escort Hope's grandmother to the dinner table.

* * *

Hank knew he was attending a friendly, family meal. He knew the food was delicious. He knew it was a warm, positive environment.

But he was having a little trouble with all the questions.

"What about your family, Hank? Your parents?"

_Growl._

_Don't go all episodic, Beast. I'll give them the easy version._

"They live in Illinois. My father is a scientist and my mother is an English teacher."

"And do you see them often?"

_Growl. _

_Hush._

"No, I don't get back much."

Hope rescued him.

"You know, Mom, Grandma still wants to learn to ride Tom's bike."

"Oh, Mother . . ."

_I love you, Hope._

It didn't last long.

"So, Hank, what do you do for work?"

_I fight mutant-killer robots._

"I'm a scientist and a researcher."

"Hank's absolutely _brilliant_, Mom."

"And for recreation? What do you do in your off time?"

_I kiss your daughter._

"Um . . ."

Hope's grandma broke into the well-meaning interrogation.

"Oh Catherine, stop grilling Big Blue and let the boy _eat_."

_Thank you, Grandma._

"Now, somebody pass me that jello salad, please," the elderly lady requested.

Hank looked at the food on the table, confused. Hope spoke gently.

"We didn't make jello salad, Grandma. That's the bread loaf."

Hope's grandmother shrugged, clearly unconcerned.

"Well pass _that_ then, dear."

A few moments of quiet descended upon the those at the table. Then, suddenly . . .

"Somebody let the cat in," the elderly lady requested.

Lost again, Hank whispered to Hope for help.

"Do you _have_ a cat?"

She nodded.

"But I haven't seen her all night."

All eyes turned, searching for an elusive feline. Hank thought he saw a thin, tiger stripe tail disappearing from the living room window.

_How blind is this woman, really?_

* * *

Hope was staying at her parents' house that night. Hank was going home alone.

They sat on the porch swing in the darkness, listening to the quiet sounds of the neighborhood.

"I like your family."

She smiled, her head on his shoulder.

"They like you too. You did well. I told you that you would."

_Yep, I should always listen to you._

_Yes, you should 'Big Blue'._

Hope looked up at him.

"You know, if you wanted to go see your parents sometime, clear the air, I could come with you. For support. Be your buffer."

Hank thought a minute before he spoke.

"Maybe one day."

Hope looked up at him.

"Not yet?"

He shook his head a little, staring off into the distance.

"No, not yet."

Hope laid her head back down on his shoulder.

"Okay."

Suddenly, the porch lamp came on and they blinked into the sudden blinding light.

"Harold," they heard a quavering older voice reprimand from inside the house. "Turn that light off! As shy as Big Blue is, he will never kiss her if you put him on display like that!"

To which the unseen Harold replied innocently.

"Oh, Mother, you know I was just reaching for the fan switch."

The female voice continued.

"Mmphh, sure you were. And I know what else I know. A porch light never slowed you down . . ."

A younger female voice gasped.

"Mother!"

Hank and Hope broke into stifled laughter as the sweater-knitting, hog-riding grandmother replied.

"Oh, Catherine, don't be so embarrassed. Your father used to unscrew the porch lightbulb when he came over to visit me . . ."

Listening to Hope's grandmother, Hank decided he liked her best of Hope's family. Then an amusing notion popped into his head.

"I should really learn to ride a motorcycle so I can take her for rides."

Hope giggled, sitting up, the porch swing creakily lazily.

"Careful there, Easy Rider. She just might try to marry you for that."

"She's not the one I want to marry," he said without thinking.

Hope grinned, blushing.

"Well, good. I'd hate to have competition," she replied lightly.

_Wait, did I just propose? Did just she accept? I'm not sure. I'll have to try it again later._

* * *

**Okay, I image Googled 'women's dresses of the '70s and this dress was gorgeous! So I put it on our Hope here. And I thought about go-go boots, but it seemed she would want to keep it simple for the weekend. Plus, it might kill Hank. Heh heh. By the way, that was just my entire understanding of fashion.**

**Okay, growing up in my household was crap. Not whining, just saying. So I gave Hope a purposefully happy, run-of-the-mill family. It may seem plain, but I think it's precious. Sue me.**

**There's a very funny super short NH interview on Youtube 'Nicholas Hoult About Xmen Makeup' (1 min vid) and that was the inspiration for Hank saying 'yes' in his head so easily. **

**Hope, Harold, Hank. Yeah, I just got that. Too stubborn to change it now. **

**Cred for Hank's parents' info goes to I've Been a Labrat. There's more for another time. So, thanks, sweetie.**

**Thanks to Aletta-Feather, ChiefPam, MoonlitShadowsoftheHumanSoul, and brigid1318 for your reviews. **

******Nope, lol, my sweet, no intentional dark foreshadowing in any of these chapters so far. A few somber thoughts but that's just life, yeah? You're just going through withdrawal from X-Men angst. Happens to the best of us. *winks**

******Thanks as well to The Clara Oswin Oswald, camsam17, and kanna-chan94 for adding your support to this tale.**

******Okay, who else belongs at Xavier Manor? Somebody full of energy maybe?**


	8. The Return of the Quicksilver Kid

I do not own X-Men anything.

You'd think I'd run out of words by now. You'd be wrong.

Reaching Out

Chapter 8: The Return of the Quicksilver Kid

* * *

The next weekend Hope visited was the weekend that Peter, the Quicksilver Kid, descended on Xavier Manor.

And everybody knew it.

Because one of the first things he did was accidently insult Hope. Which was not easy to do. But then again, Peter was an overachiever in his own way.

Against his better judgment, Hank made the introductions while standing the tv room.

"Hope, is this Peter. Peter, this is Hope."

Peter appraised her with interest, his silver eyebrows raised appreciatively.

"Oh, a grown _college_ woman, cool."

_Growl._

_No, no. Hang on. Don't punch him just yet._

_Growl. _

_Oh, just watch. He'll hang himself._

_Growl._

_Trust me, Beast._

And of course, Peter continued talking to Hope. Who was looking mildly amused at the verbose black and silver clad teenage boy.

"So . . . do you disco?" asked the guy wearing a Pink Floyd shirt.

_Uh no, I don't _think_ she gets on 'the love train'. Do you, Hope?_

"Do drugs? You know, like, expand your mind and stuff?"

He wiggled his fingers next to his temple.

_Well, she is my own personal 'Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds', but . . ._

"How about free love? You do free love?"

Now he was really scrutinizing her.

_Should have seen her face when 'Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex (But Were Afraid to Ask)' came out. Said the little guy creeped her out. Wouldn't even look at the movie poster._

Peter was still talking. Of course.

"Come on, man. Whaddya do, whaddya do, whaddya dooooo?"

Peter's rapid-fire interrogation caused Hope to quirk an eye in muted bemusement. Peter eyeballed her right back. Appearing quite ready to patiently wait all day for her answers, something that he usually didn't seem at all prepared to do.

Hope glanced over at Hank who gave her a slight shrug as if to say 'go ahead and deck him, I don't care'.

Hope turned back to Peter, who had commenced to tapping his foot and grinning like an imp.

"Well, none of that exactly, but I do tend to walk away from idiots, I can tell you that," Hope replied.

Peter looked at Hank with a teasing smirk.

"Just couldn't bring home Raquel Welch, could you? You know, somebody with, like, . . ." his hands wavered in the air in front of him somewhat suggestively. ". . . _assets_, man."

Hope raised an eyebrow in exasperation and for a second Hank swore she was about to take a swing at Peter. And Hank would have just about let her.

Then she turned her back and walked off without saying a word. Hank watched her go. Then throwing a wilting gaze to Peter, he hurried off after her.

Catching up with her, he murmured, "Heyyyy . . ."

She responded casually with "I'm good, I'm good, go do an experiment or something; I'm going to go break some balls."

_Uh . . . oh, billiards, right? You're talking about billiards . . . right?_

_Sure. If that helps you sleep at night._

"What'd I say?" Peter asked, asking turning to Charles who had silently witnessed the entire interaction.

Charles gave him an incredulous look that said 'Really, Peter?'.

"Everything," Charles replied with masked irritation.

"No, I mean, specifically _now_."

Charles wheeled toward his study.

"Come on, Peter, I'm going to fill you in a little about women. And then you're going to go fix this."

* * *

The real reason Peter had come to Xavier Manor was known only to Charles and Hank.

Because Peter had some new information. But only enough to confuse him, to freak him out. To make him seek answers.

"Okay, who was that guy, man? The guy I broke out. Really. I saw him on the tv, man. He's like intense. Who is he?"

Charles took a deep breath, trying to think through the pain in his back. The pain the doctors said wasn't real. The pain that most certainly was.

"He is a person who has lost his way, Peter. We both believe mutants should be allowed to live in peace but he resorts to violence and I don't believe in that."

Peter raised an eyebrow.

"Even though you punched him?"

Charles smiled and nodded.

"Yes, Peter. Even though I punched him."

Peter nodded with an 'uh, huh' expression.

"I need to know about him."

Charles shrugged.

"I'm not sure what else I can tell you, Peter."

Peter looked Charles directly in the eyes. Hank noticed that Peter was uncharacteristically still. Which meant that something was weighing heavily on his mind.

"Peter, we are your friends. You can talk about it," Charles said kindly.

Peter opened his mouth. Then the second before he disappeared, his normally relaxed demeanor crinkled in frustration.

"Never mind."

* * *

Peter Maximoff sped through the halls of Xavier Manor.

Past the kitchen.

_Nobody cooking. Bummer._

Past the tv room.

_Boring._

Out the doors, completely bewildering some bald tattooed kid with a gust of breeze.

_Man, who drew on _you_? Can I have a turn?_

Outside, down the path to the gate and back up again. Burning off extra steam.

He was annoyed. He wanted answers. That was the whole reason for this trip. Coercing his mom into letting him come. Promising to call home. It was summer after all.

Time for some camp right? As in camp for people who were awesome.

And time to find out more about his dear old dad.

* * *

"What's it like?"

Peter looked at Hank, eyebrows raised.

"Sorry. Scientific curiosity."

Peter tilted his head, formulating his response for a few quick seconds while Hank waited.

Then Peter smiled and started speeding all over the room.

"Well, you know what it's like . . ."

Worktable loaded with beakers and vials.

". . . to be at the bank . . ."

Window looking out over a sunny, green vista.

". . . behind a bunch of old people . . ."

Bookcase stuffed with scientific books and journals.

". . . who can't find . . ."

Refrigerated storage for safe chemical storage.

". . . their bankbooks?"

Back standing toe to toe with Hank, who grinned and responded casually.

"That bad, huh?"

Peter grinned back.

"Yep, pretty much."

Then Peter leaned forward in a whisper.

"What's it like being smarter than everybody else?"

Hank smirked, an eyebrow raised.

"About the same."

* * *

Hank loved that he could still work when Hope visited. In fact, she insisted on it.

"You need to work that big, sexy brain," she'd say.

Then she'd kiss him and curl up quietly in the window seat of his laboratory room with a book, content to relax and read or study for hours.

He would work, glancing at her every so often. Sometimes she caught him peeking and gifted him with a sweet smile or wink. Sometimes he would catch her glancing at him and he'd try not to blush.

Her presence was comforting to him. Once she'd fallen asleep curled up in the sun like a cat and he'd found a blanket to cover her with. She'd murmured his name sleepily as he'd tucked her in and slept for an hour as he pretended to work instead distractedly gazing at her.

Sometimes she'd gift him with a soft kiss and quietly exit the room. Then he'd eventually find her in the game room or the tv room. A few times, he'd discovered her playing chess with Charles in his office.

She seemed to make herself and everyone else right at home where ever she was.

Hank couldn't imagine life without her.

* * *

Of course, not everybody was as easy on his mind and his eyes as Hope.

"Hey, whatacha doing?"

Hank flinched, nearly dropping the beaker he was holding.

_I hate when he does that._

"Hey," he managed. "You crept up on me."

Peter shrugged.

"Yeah, sorry. I do that."

Hope looked up from her window seat perch, lowering her book. She spoke calmly.

"I think you do it on purpose. Just 'cause you can. Just to mess with people."

Peter looked slightly miffed. Then he relented.

"Well, yeah. And sorry about earlier."

She smiled a little at him.

"That's okay. You're a juvenile."

Hank snorted then covered it with a laugh.

_I think I've got some ointment around here for that nasty _burn_, Peter. I love you, Hope._

_Of course. I'm awesome._

Peter actually looked uncertain, unsure of himself.

"Uh . . ."

Hope face-palmed herself, then looked up and smiled.

"Don't worry about it, Peter. It's over. Just let your brain run before your mouth does, okay?"

Peter considered this briefly, then grinned his imp smile again.

"Yes, ma'am."

Hank turned to Peter, knowing the silver clad boy's well of stillness was running dry.

"What can we do for you, Peter?"

Peter shifted, fiddling with Hank's papers at normal speed for a second. Though it went against his nature to let people touch his stuff, Hank let him. He noticed with curiosity and interest that Peter going at normal speed meant something was going on in his supersonic head.

Peter fiddled. Hank waited. Hope pretended to be invisible.

"That guy on tv. Erik, Magneto. Whatever . . ."

He trailed off again, then disappeared and reappeared next to Hope.

"Whatacha reading?"

She managed to maintain her composure at the sudden intrusion.

"The Princess Bride."

Peter wrinkled up his nose.

"Ick, no . . ."

Hope grinned at him.

"No, it's really good. There's a giant and swordfights and . . ."

But Peter was already gone, back at Hank's side. Hope rolled her eyes and resumed pretending to read.

"Hey."

Again, Hank fumbled his laboratory equipment.

_Growl._

_Patience, Beast. The kid's obviously here for some reason. Just have to wait him out._

"So . . ." Hank pressed casually.

Peter stopped fiddling and looked Hank in the eyes.

"That guy, that Magneto guy, that guy is my dad."

To their credit, both Hope and Hank reacted calmly.

"Yeah?" Hank replied.

He kept his eyes trained on his worktable, pretending to organize it because he figured it would be easier for the boy to discuss such a delicate subject if he didn't feel like he was put in the spotlight.

Peter stood quiet and still for a couple of seconds. Hank continued pseudo-organizing.

Finally, Peter spoke, his words bursting out of him in rush.

"Yeah, my mom was pretending not to freak out over him at the White House thing but I could tell she was really upset so me and my sister Wanda got together and asked her. When we stick together, we can usually drag the truth out of her."

Hank could only imagine.

"She said they met before when she lived in Germany and then he left but she wouldn't say why and then she found out she was pregnant with us and wanted us to have a chance so she came over here to the States."

Peter stopped talking and disappeared, reappearing next to Hope again.

"Swordfights, huh?"

She smiled over fondly at him.

"Yeah, and there's a Fire Swamp with . . ."

But he was gone again, reappearing at Hank's side. Who by this time had learned his lesson and was anticipating him.

Hope sighed and returned once more to her book.

Peter leaned against the worktable, arms folded. Hank folded his arms back at him.

Waiting.

"I've never really thought about having a dad. It never really much mattered. But having _him_ as a dad . . ."

Peter trailed off again and shrugged.

"If he's my dad and he's all . . . _him_, what does that make _me_?"

Hank looked at him speculatively. Hope lowered her book and concentrated on the silver-haired nitroglycerin tablet of a teenager. Peter continued to Hank.

"You're the scientist guy. You know about genes and DNA and heredity and all that. What about _me_?"

Hank looked at him, formulating his words carefully.

"You can be whatever you want to be, Pietro."

Peter looked at him carefully. Hope knew Hank had used his given name purposefully.

_Beautiful, blue teddybear. I love you._

"Yeah?"

Peter looked hopeful. Then he grinned and Hank smiled at him.

Disappearing, Peter reappeared again next to Hope.

"So, a swamp with fire, huh?"

Hope rolled her eyes, grinned, and closed the book. She handed it to Peter.

"Just bring it back when you're . . ."

". . . done, I know," he finished rapidly.

And then he was gone.

Again.

The silence and stillness left behind in his wake nearly deafened them both. After a moment, Hope approached her tall scientist man and wrapped her arms around him.

He let her, returning the embrace.

"You were very patient and kind to Peter."

Hank shrugged dismissively.

"I tried."

Hope kissed him lightly.

"No, Hank. You were really great. He needed that from you, you know. He respects you."

He blushed.

"Thanks."

Hope played with his ears, making his nerve endings tingle.

"Have I told you today how much I love you?"

He shook his head, painting a serious expression on his face.

"Nope."

She reached up for his lips again.

"Well, I do."

As their lips met again, more deeply this time, Hank's world began to melt away.

It wasn't for long.

"Hey, question . . . what's 'inconceivable' _actually_ mean?"

_Annddd, he's back. _

* * *

**I'm teasing Peter with the Quicksilver Kid part just for funsies.**

**Anybody else like 'Empire Records'? Joe about Warren ~ "Yeah, he's a juvenile."**

**'Princess Bride' by William Goldman was published in book form in 1973. Ah, I love that movie. "Hello, my name is Inigo Montoya . . ."**

**Thanks to angeleye02 (Oh, my Lord love a _duck_, sweetie! Cyberspace'll wait, yeah? Go have a life. I keep _telling_ you that. *shakes finger like Hope's grandma), Aletta-Feather, lol, MoonlitShadowsoftheHumanSoul, I've Been a Labrat, brigid1318, and ChiefPam for speaking up about our poor old Hank and the firecracker of a grandma!**

******And in case this story's getting too syrupy sweet for ya (I'll rot your teeth, baby), tomorrow's chapter is full of angst. There's a man in a wheelchair who needs our help. **


	9. For Those in Supplication

I do not own X-Men anything.

You'd think I'd run out of words by now. You'd be wrong.

Reaching Out

Chapter 9: For Those in Supplication

* * *

Charles Francis Xavier was not the man he had been in his earlier days. He was not the man he had become after the loss of his legs. He was not the man he would eventually grow to be.

He was only him.

And right now, he was in exquisite pain.

His pain varied from day to day, the severity of it, and sensation of it changed, evolved.

Sometimes he experienced a burning sensation in his back. According to the world's best doctors, there were nodules where the muscles knotted up. Those inflamed nodules could not be cut out of him without creating more chronic pain. When he tried to stretch his torso, the pain intensified until beads of sweet stood out on his face and he ground his teeth together to keep from screaming.

Sometimes his pain stabbed him like dozen of thin, cruel knives into his lower back over and over until they radiated up his spine, into his fingers, his eyes, his brain. Constant crawling insects of pain, stabbing him with their red hot needles, being bitten and stung over and over again.

Sometimes he swore he could feel his legs again. But they weren't his legs. They were evil, malevolent, snickering beings that mocked his anguish, his struggle, his entire existence. Deep, soul-shredding visceral pain that made him want to blow his brains out.

Sometimes it was dull and throbbing, a fist with nails dug deep into his back.

Frequently, whatever form the pain took, it was acute. A word that given his preference would be effectively scrubbed from the English language as the most misguiding word ever invented. There was nothing cute about it at all.

Often by the end of the day, when he was exhausted from battling his physical misery and hiding it from those free living individuals around him, every inch of Charles' body and mind were raw and hypersensitive. Clothes soft and comfortable when donned in the morning felt like sand paper rubbing an open wound by early evening.

Because of the damage to his central nervous system by Erik's diversion of Moira's bullet, the electrical nerve impulses in his lower back were interrupted and misdirected. Which meant though his legs were of no use to him and that he really had no possible ability to feel them, he, on occasion, could.

The doctors called it 'phantom pain'.

Charles Xavier called it Hell.

And it was always with him in one form or another. Like niggling, mocking little demons skittering all over him. Making him suffer. Making him pay for all the times he had felt invincible, felt in control, felt like a man.

The serum Hank had created had given him back his legs, taken away his pain, and subdued his feverish mind full of supplicant voices. And for a while, he had been blessedly free.

And trapped in another type of torture.

The torture of guilt. The torture of shame. The torture of the fallen.

He'd hid away for nearly ten years. Nearly destroyed himself. And Hank. A loyal friend whose lanky, unassuming frame and brilliant, resilient mind had taken the brunt of so very much of Charles' misery and woe.

Some of that time was clear. Most of it was a blur. A little he could not remember at all.

Nor did he want to.

He had sincerely asked Hank's forgiveness and the gracious man had granted it willingly.

And so from that moment forward, Charles had done his best.

His best to regain his honor, his principles, control over his weakened body and mind.

Not one moment of it had proven to be less than an uphill battle, a daily struggle, an exercise in misery.

Wanting his serum, needing his serum, _craving_ his serum.

Denying his pain, both physical and emotional.

Locking everything away inside so that no others would be forced to bear it. For it was his alone.

He tried to keep his focus on Logan's plea. On the vision of his older self.

But the pain. The never-ending pain.

Phantom pain. Real pain.

In the end, it was just pain. Pain that must endured by him.

And so he endured. Or tried.

He tried ignoring it, to trick his mind into believing it was no longer there.

That was a ridiculous joke.

Meditation. Visualization. Spiritualism.

He even tried keeping a pain diary. In it, he wrote about his pain throughout the day. Different circumstances, different activities different sensations. How they affected his min, his body, and his pain. Sitting up, lying down. Soaking in a hot, soothing, aromatic solution.

There seemed to be no correlation connecting any of it.

So in a fit of despair and frustration, he burned the pain diary.

He tried compartmentalizing the pain. Creating mental boxes to put it all in and contain it, hold it there. But sometimes all the compartments seemed so very full.

It was hard to to think through the pain. To interact with others, talk with others, be around others. Made it hard to find other mutants in Cerebro.

But he was trying.

He visited Cerebro alone. Opened the door and closed himself away in that steel-tiled womb. Placed the the shiny ability-enhancing helmet on his head. And searched. Searched. Searched.

After the agony of searching for Raven, he was hesitant to plunge into deep water.

So he started small. With the inhabitants of Xavier Manor. Locked onto their mutant signatures. Dipped into their thoughts and out quickly to avoid the voyeuristic tendencies of a telepath.

Hank, working in his lab.

_If I reroute the cables, it will boost the signal, and send it further so that I can . . ._

Hope, tucked into her lab windowseat, reading a book.

"_True love is the best thing in the world, except for cough drops . . ." Now _that's_ an awesome line. Oh man, I love the Princess Bride. _

Alex working out in the exercise room.

_59, 60 . . . Ugh, wish I had a cheeseburger . . . 61, . . ._

Peter down in the game room, playing ping pong against himself.

_Manofmetalsilverandmetalmadeofmetalmindofmetalsilverandblackmetalwhatdoesthatmakeme_

Morty and Max in the tv room watching Star Trek.

_No, Spock, don't do let him do it! Ah, you idiot!_

Ink sitting on the front steps, staring out over the vast greens.

_. . . the point of this? Do I even mean anything? Maybe it would be better if I just . . ._

That stopped Charles dead in his psychic tracks. He withdrew from the extrasensory plane and left Cerebro as quickly as he could.

* * *

He knew Ink was uncomfortable with him reaching into his mind so Charles decided not to tell him or make mental contact to communicate.

Instead, he took the long way around, guiding his chair to the foyer and opening the door.

The young, heavily tattooed man was still there, looking contemplative and forlorn.

"Ink? May I see you in my study, please?"

The boy nodded and followed Charles into the cleanly kept room. Ink sat in the offered chair, looking nervous and apprehensive.

"How are you, Ink?" Charles asked conversationally.

The boy shrugged.

"Fine."

"Are you comfortable here? Treated well?"

Ink nodded.

_Well, don't tell everything at once, boy. Slow down a bit there._

"If you need something or someone to talk to, I can reassure you that anything you share will remain between us, you know."

Again, Ink nodded.

Charles decided he couldn't say anything else without revealing that which he had discovered in Cerebro. So he reached out to pat Ink's white t-shirted shoulder.

And flinched as the unbearable pain shot through him.

Though he had been training himself to not show his agony, something must have registered on his face, in his eyes, or through his thoughts.

Ink turned and looked him fully in the face, instantly concerned.

"Are you okay?"

Charles managed a nod, drawing his hand back, and clasping his hands together tightly in an effort to keep them from shaking.

"Professor?"

Ink was leaning forward, one hand unconsciously reaching for the wheelchaired man's shoulder in a mirror of the same way that Charles had just attempted.

Charles gritted his teeth.

"My back. Sometimes it hurts.

_Massive understatement, Charles, you git_, he criticized himself.

As he attempted to breathe normally, a thoughtful expression crossed Ink's tattooed face.

Then he rose and abruptly left the room.

_Good talk, lad. Thank you._

Charles wheeled himself over to the sofa where he had reclined on so many a lonely repast under the crushing weight of his loss, his shame, his serum-and-alcohol laced guilt.

Groaning low, he lifted himself up out of the chair and onto the soft cushions.

Which helped his back not at all.

He bit back a moan and closed his eyes.

Hearing a noise, he looked up.

Standing in the doorway, he saw Ink once more and Hank now with him.

Charles managed a sick smile.

"Very thoughtful of you, Ink. But it's really very much better now."

_You're a bloody liar, Charles Xavier_, he thought to himself.

Ink shook his head, stepping into the room as Hank moved to close and lock the door.

"No, you're not. You're lying."

Charles watched them advance toward him, his suspicions already forming.

"I'd like to try to help you," Ink said quietly.

Charles looked wary.

"That could kill you, Ink."

Ink remained calm.

"No, I don't think so. I think I could help your pain."

Charles shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Ink. But it's too dangerous. I won't risk you harming yourself for me. I can manage."

Hank stopped in front of Charles and folded his arms across his chest.

"You can roll yourself over onto your stomach or I can do it for you, Charles. Either way, he's going to try it and I'm going help him."

Charles glared at Hank.

"You're supposed to be my _friend_, Hank."

Hank smiled.

"I _am_, Charles. Now roll over."

Charles glared at the insufferable pair of them.

"I could use my powers to stop you both," he said threateningly.

Hank nodded in agreement, appearing unconcerned.

"I could also punch you in the temple, render you unconscious, flip you over, and _then_ let him work."

Gentle, peaceful Hank did not seem to be kidding. And he wasn't finished yet.

"Or, you could let him to use his powers to be helpful and try to relieve your pain."

Ink waited. Hank waited. Charles waited.

Finally, last man grumbled.

"Fine. But please be careful with yourself, Ink."

And with some difficulty, arranged himself on his stomach with his legs stretched out behind him, his body screaming in constant agony.

Silently, Ink knelt at his side, and pulled up Charles' shirt to reveal his scarred lower back. The room was cold and the skin goosebumped.

Ink slowly stretched out his Caduceus-tattooed right hand over Charles' back . . .

_To be the right hand of God_, Charles thought randomly.

. . . and laid it lightly over the puckered scar.

Hank stood nearby, the silent, still observer.

Ink closed his eyes and searched for the source of the pain.

He found it almost immediately, for it pulsed and blazed like a beacon in the darkness of his mind.

He saw them. Or rather, the visceral representation of them. Sheered nerve endings, jagged and raw and red like bleeding shards of cutting, slicing glass.

They throbbed and buzzed and hummed and screamed, sending tidal waves of themselves throughout the entirety of Charles Xavier's body.

It was a wonder the man hadn't gone insane from the constant pain.

The pseudo-mutant Ink, born Eric Gitter, reached out with his mind and touched them carefully.

The spike of pain was instantaneous, white hot, and blinding to the crippled man. It eradicated everything but itself from his plane of existence.

Charles screamed despite himself and his hands clutched the fabric on which he lay, clawing it as his body seized. Dimly, he felt Hank grip his hands and hold them tight. As much pain as he had already caused Hank, he could not refrain from digging his fingers into the man's palms as the agony gripped his body and tore at him like a savage beast attacking its prey.

Ink knew he had only a few seconds left before Charles' threshold was breached and broken.

He took the ragged, wailing nerve endings and smoothed them down like honey poured over a vicious cacophony of thunder and lightning. Sealing them up, entombing them forever like an ancient pharaoh laid to rest beneath the sands of time.

Laying them to rest in peace and silence now and forever.

And then, just as Charles Xavier began to envision the sweet, peaceful release of death, the pain stopped.

It faded away with barely a twinge and a whisper.

And was gone.

His rigid body relaxed and lay completely still. His hands, limply held in Hank's, his sweaty forehead pressed into the soft cushions, the sweat already cooling upon his flesh.

"Charles?" Hank whispered softly, next to his ear.

Charles released his hands and turned his head to the side to see Hank's furrowed, frowning visage.

"I'm okay," he murmured. "It's . . . it's gone."

Hank tentatively reached out.

"Your legs?"

Charles shook his head with a growing sense of wonder.

"But the pain. As if it had never been at all."

Suddenly Hank dove for Ink, who had fallen to the floor, seizing.

Alarmed, Charles maneuvered himself onto the floor next to the pair as Hank turned Ink onto his side and anxiously waited it out.

* * *

"You knew that would happen didn't you?"

Ink looked up at Hank as the taller man held out an over-the-counter pill to quell his lingering headache. Ink took it and swallowed it with a sip of tepid water, handing the glass back to the scientist.

"Something like it, yes."

Hope pressed a cool cloth to Ink's forehead and he sighed in relief.

"Then why did you do it?"

The question was not an unkind one.

"I wanted to help."

Hope kissed Ink's cheek and he was too tired to remember to be embarrassed.

"Thank you, Ink," Hope said with deep emotion.

Hank placed his hand gently on Ink's shoulder.

"Yes, thank you. Thank you so much."

Then Hank left the room to talk to the anxiously awaiting group of mutants outside Ink's room.

Charles, once more in his wheelchair, now completely free of pain, with tears of gratitude and hope streaming down his cheeks. He nodded to Ink, completely unable to speak and Ink nodded back, a small smile in his eyes. Then Charles moved forward, clasped Ink's hands in his and kissed them reverently.

Hope laid a gentle hand on Charles' shoulder.

"He needs to rest and you need to compose yourself and go talk to them so they'll believe you and Hank, okay? I'll watch over him. He's not getting up for a couple of hours."

Charles nodded, looked to his savior once more, and reluctantly left the room.

Hope pulled up a chair next to Ink's bedside, opened her book, and began to read aloud to him.

"'Enough about my beauty." Buttercup said. "Everybody always talks about how beautiful I am. I've got a mind, Westley. Talk about that.'"

And Ink decided it wasn't so bad to be trapped here with her. He closed his eyes, listened peacefully, and waited for the blinding migraine to release its grip upon him.

* * *

**I researched this on the internet and ended up reading many postings from real people to each other reaching out in support. I respect and admire these people for facing their agony every day and trying to reach out to each other.**

**If any of my information is inaccurate, it's an honest mistake and I apologize.**

**I wrote this for Charles and for you. I sincerely wish I could make your pain go away and I pray for your continuing fight.**

**Charles kissing Ink's hands is weird? Have you ever been sincerely rescued from your own personal pit? Cut him some slack, yeah? *hands Charles a hankie**

**Now, before we burst into tears, check out this quote from the Princess Bride book:**

"**The Queen's Pride was his ship, and he loved her. (That was the way his sentences always went: It is raining today and I love you. My cold is better and I love you. Say hello to Horse and I love you. Like that.)" **

**Isn't that awesome? And a little like Hank? Except Hope would totally smack the movie Buttercup for being so passive and helpless. *grins **

**And that other quote that Hope read to Ink, jeez, I wish **_**that**_** had been in the movie, don't you?**

**Anyway, thanks to I've Been a Labrat, Aletta-Feather, MoonlitShadowsoftheHumanSoul, lol, brigid1318, and angeleye02 for reviewing so much. If you need a break after ch 10, you better just say. Otherwise I'm writing straight on til August when I start teaching school again. :D**

**And thanks to MissS . D1998 for adding your support to this story.**

**That being said, you know, I kind of miss one of the first characters we met so very long ago . . .**


	10. Birds, Squirrels, and Polo

I do not own X-Men anything.

You'd think I'd run out of words by now. You'd be wrong.

Reaching Out

Chapter 10: Birds, Squirrels, and Polo

* * *

Hank was outside in the bright, warming sunshine, engaged in discussion with Charles. All around them were signs of spring. Green grass, budding trees, timid flowers peeking out at the sun.

He glimpsed Hope walking up to them with a young woman beside her. Both women wore colorful t-shirts and jeans.

_Familiar,_ he thought. _Why am I suddenly thinking of pancakes?_

His déjà vu grew as they advanced.

By the time the pair of lovely women reached them, Hank knew. Her brown hair was still cut short and her green eyes sparkled in the sun. She had grown into an attractive young woman. He wondered how her numbers were doing.

"Guys," Hope said, "This is Chloe."

Charles reached out to shake her hand.

"Wonderful to see you again, Chloe."

"You too, Professor."

She smiled at him then turned to Hank.

"Hello," she said.

It was obvious she did not recognize him. And why would she? He looked human. She had never seen him look human.

"Hello, Chloe. Do you still like pancakes?"

Chloe blinked in confusion like she'd heard him wrong.

"Well, yes, but how would you . . ."

Then she peered at him, squinting her eyes. Then her mouth dropped open.

"_Hank_?" she whispered.

He smiled at her. She seemed to realize she was gawking but was unable not stop. He allowed the beast to come out for the briefest of reunions and then bade his body to return to human form once more.

"You . . . you look . . . your blue form is a little . . . different."

The words struggled from her vocal cords even as her green eyes seemed to glow with happiness. Hank supposed a little explanation was in order.

"Yes. I made a serum to allow me to control my form and as a side effect, the beast looks a little more . . . human," he told her.

Hope nodded absently, seeming to study him. Charles and Hope were obviously trying not to look amused by the teenager's openly shocked reaction.

Hope finally spoke up, unable to bear the awkward silence anymore.

"So, you knew Hank from before?" she asked kindly.

Chloe's embarrassment cleared. She smiled easily now.

"Yes. He was my living ted . . . well, I had trouble with numbers. And Hank," she grinned broadly as Hank modestly ducked his head, "he showed me how I could work around it. With pancakes."

Though neither Hope nor Charles really understood the entire story, the happiness radiating from Chloe made them smile.

"After my parents took me away," a cloud passed momentarily darkened Chloe's expression, "I went back to regular school and eventually was able to graduate valedictorian."

Charles looked impressed.

"Well done, Chloe! And with dyscalculia as well. That is fantastic."

Chloe's beamed wider.

"Well, Hank's the one who started it. He made me feel like I wasn't helpless and dumb. I'm even thinking of being a math teacher!"

Hank, almost catatonic with embarrassment, just managed to smile and speak.

"You were never helpless or dumb. Your brain just functions differently."

She beamed at him.

"Well, it's all thanks to you."

Charles coughed pointedly, attempting to draw attention away from Hank before he stroked out.

"Will you be staying with us long?"

Chloe shrugged, shifting her eyes to the man in the wheelchair.

"I'd like to help if I can. That's why I came back. To see if you were still here after, you know, D.C. and all. And to ask if I could help somehow."

Hope smiled at the younger girl affectionately. Charles nodded and spoke.

"Well, we're quite glad to have you back, Chloe. Perhaps you can help tutor some of our students who need to pass their high school equivalency exams. You may understand how to help them in a way we have not."

Chloe's face practically glowed.

"I'd love to! Thank you!"

Suddenly, Ink dropped down out of the sky. Landing on his feet as lightly as a cat next to Charles, who immediately patted his shoulder and congratulated him.

"Well, done, Ink! That's your longest flight yet. You're increasing your strength and stamina almost every practice session!"

Hank noticed Chloe's mouth hanging open as she stared at the tattooed young man standing next to Charles Xavier.

Charles, of course, had not noticed. Still talking to Ink . . .

"How do you feel?"

. . . who was only half-listening, the other half of him trying not to stare at Chloe's emerald green eyes.

"Uh, fine," he stammered then turned to Charles. "A little tired."

Charles nodded.

"You've never flown so long. I'd imagine you would be."

Hope saw the looks passing between the two teenagers as well and glancing at Hank, threw him a look of interest.

_Oh, boy, more teenagers._

_Yes, we may have to build separate pens._

_For us too._

". . . go in a have a bite. It will help you get your strength back," Charles concluded, apparently not realizing no one was listening to him.

Ink pulled his gaze away from Chloe's and spoke to the general air.

"Okay."

And then he hurried away toward the house.

After some more chitchat, Chloe and Hope continued on their way to meet more of the inhabitants of Xavier Manor.

Charles looked back at Hank, an eyebrow raised and spoke dryly.

"So, Hank. How good does it feel to be a rockstar?"

Hank could only shake his head and smile.

_Not quite as much as Ink, I'd imagine. But okay._

* * *

"Dude! Get it!"

"I'm trying!"

"How did it get out anyway?"

"Chloe opened the door!"

"Well, I am _sorry_! How was I to know you were keeping wild animals in your room?!"

"It's not wild, it's just scared! It's a baby and you're yelling at it!"

"It _hissed_ at me!"

"Well, you scared it!"

"It scared _me_!"

"Where is it?"

"Oh, I see it! It just ran under that chair in the corner!"

"Nope, now it's on the chandelier!"

"Roooaaarrrrr!"

"Hank, no! You'll hurt it!"

"It scratched my face!"

"Well, you roared at it!"

"Because it scratched my face!"

"Hank, who's evolved?"

"Are you really going to ask that question to the big, furry, blue guy right now?"

"Shut up, Ring of Fire!"

"There it goes!"

"I can _see_ it!"

"Then _catch_ it!"

"Alright, Chloe, anytime you want to just grab him . . ."

"No problem!"

"Ahhh! Not me! Put me down! I'm afraid of heights!"

"Sorry, I missed. Big baby."

"What was that?"

"Nothing, nothing."

"Hey, man, get ahead of it and wait for it and grab it when it runs by!"

"Man, I wish Peter was still here! This wouldn't even be a problem!"

"His mom said if he didn't come home to finish the semester, she'd ground him for life."

"How much duct tape would that take exactly?"

"Shut _up_, Alex! Catch it!"

"I'm _trying_!"

"Here it comes . . ."

". . . and there it goes! Dude, how did you _miss_ it?"

"Quick little sucker . . ."

"I'll get it!"

"Morty, that's my arm!"

"Thorry."

"Ink, can't you, like . . ."

"No, he will most certainly _not_!"

The gang of young mutants ran on and the terrified baby flying squirrel that Max had been keeping his room while its hurt leg healed, scrambled, ricocheted, and glided all over Xavier Manor. Its eyes were wide and wild as it fled the yelling, fumbling mutants that hunted it.

When it was finally caught safely and released into the wild, Max wiped a tear away from his eye and wished it well. Then he went back into the house with the other mutants and surveyed the damage.

"Ugh, this could take a while."

* * *

"How was polo?"

They were almost home, Hank having picked Charles up from his polo game after all the hoopla died down back at the Manor.

"I'm exhausted. That special saddle really works the abdominal muscles, I can tell you that."

After Ink had cured Charles of his chronic pain, the rejuvenated man had fished around for exercises and activities to strengthen his body. He had played polo in his youth, but despaired of reviving the sport because it required the use of his legs.

And so Hank the inventor had secretly bought a top of the line polo saddle and spent a few days modifying it for Charles.

Leg harnesses held his legs in place and and granted him extra stability to keep him from falling out of the saddle. Another safety harness kept Charles from hitting the ground in case he did lose his balance.

With hopefulness, he had presented it to Charles. The man had first appeared dumbfounded, then as Hank explained and demonstrated the uniqueness of the piece, he had begun to smile. And tried to withhold tears as he realized that it just might work.

For a few weeks, Hank had taken him to the horse stables at the local country club to practice his riding and technique. Charles had relished the opportunity, working so hard that Hank was concerned that Charles would injure himself and have to stop altogether.

Then again, it was a fantastic sight to see Charles Xavier coming back to life. And not just in the 'determined-to-trudge-through-every-day' life either.

But true life.

_You know, I'm not worried about him anymore. I do actually think he's going to be okay now._

Hank was several years younger than Charles and so the 'proud papa' feeling he got was strange but he accepted it because it was better than constant worry and concern.

When Charles joined a polo team, Hank drove him there and back again. He watched the matches. He drove him home.

It also helped Hank to stay busy when Hope went back to college.

After several matches, Charles said, "Hank, you know, I am glad you are so supportive, but you don't have to stay. I know you don't care for sports and you don't have to babysit me."

_Easier than babysitting the mutants back at the Manor._

But Hank could tell it wasn't just for himself but something for Charles as well. A way for him to feel as independent as possible.

And so Hank drove him there and back again. Sometimes he busied himself in town. Once he tried to go to the diner but without Hope, it was pale, bland, boring.

Sometimes, he went back to the Manor.

Today, he wish he'd stayed in town. But then he would have missed the whole flying squirrel incident.

When Charles and Hank entered Xavier Manor, the place was still and quiet.

And sparkling clean.

After Charles attended to his toiletries, he searched for the others and found them in the tv room.

All of them.

Including Hank.

Splayed out on couches. Chairs. The floor.

Strangely silent and still.

Usually, somebody was making fun of something on the program. And someone else was arguing and telling them to shut up.

Not this time.

This time they all lay silent and still, like vegetables.

Charles cast a questioning look at Hank who shrugged innocently.

Charles gave it a go anyway.

"And how is everyone?"

Barely audible grunts and groans and murmurs all around.

"You know actually, later there is supposed to be a nature program on wild animals . . ."

"_NO_!" five, weary voices chorused in unison.

Charles Xavier paused, staring at the vacant, staring eyes latched onto the blinking lights of the tv.

"Um, _okay_ . . ."

* * *

**Here's h****oping I send ChiefPam off to her meeting with a smile. :D**

**So if you're curious, Chloe's about 18 or 19 here since she was about 8 when Hank helped her with the pancakes.**

**Is it possible that Chloe has a little crush on Hank? Maybe. Maybe not. But don't hold your breath for a love triangle. These guys are too nice for that. ****Besides, there just might be someone else out there for Chloe. Maybe someone a little closer to her own age. Maybe someone shy?**

**A flying squirrel? Oh come on, they're _cute_. We hid a baby one in our college dorm for about two weeks. And I had a raccoon living in my house as a young child. Now I have no wild animals, except my nine year old son. *grins**

**I fully expect ChiefPam to find the Warm Bodies easter egg. *eyeballing you**

**Yeah, yeah, I stole the harness thing from Game of Thrones. Didn't think Tyrion would mind much. He has a soft spot for cripples, bastards, and broken things. So I've heard. ;)**

**Thanks to X. Kuchisake - Onna .X, MoonlitShadowsoftheHumanSoul, MissS.D1998, , ChiefPam, lol, Shanynde, and brigid1318 for taking the time to review. :)**

**Thanks to Hermione Sparkle for adding your support to this tale as well.**

**What's it like to live with a bunch of young mutants? About the same as regular kids in some ways. *wink* See you tomorrow. **


	11. Daily Living

I do not own X-Men anything.

You'd think I'd run out of words by now. You'd be wrong.

Reaching Out

Chapter 11: Daily Living

* * *

As it turned out, Hope had a panache for baking.

She hated making entire meals, but really excelled in making sweets, desserts, and breakfasts.

And she hardly ever had to clean up.

Hank would frequently find her in the kitchen in the company of the younger mutants, creating culinary masterpieces that never lasted long around the hungry teenagers.

On this particular occasion, Hank found Max, Ink, Morty, Alex, Peter, and Chloe milling around the large, yet somehow cozy kitchen while Hope whipped up something no doubt delicious and full of sugar.

Hank thought perhaps it was the feeling of home they got from a warm, aromatic kitchen. The feeling that if they had normal lives, this was the kind of experience they might have with their own parents.

Few things seemed to bring teenagers together as easily and with as much zest as delicious food.

Alex leaned against one counter obviously trying to positively impress Chloe with his inexhaustible charm and wit. She appeared to be enjoying the conversation, but without the same intentions as the handsome, blond man before her. And her eyes kept flicking over to another inhabitant of the room. Alex didn't seem to notice.

Morty was perched on a stool near Hope's workstation, goggles over his eyes as always, flicking his long tongue out over and over, grinning. He seemed to be intent on stealing whatever kitchen utensil Hope needed to lay her hand on. Hank thought he might have a crush on her. Akin to pulling a girl's pigtails in elementary school.

The scientist in him observed the dexterity with which Morty used his tongue. Whenever he would aim for, say a long handled mixing spoon, he would always wrap his tongue around the handle furthest away from the bowl section. As if he knew how inappropriate and disgusting it would for his tongue to actually touch the part that touched the food. As if he were trying to push and tease and frustrate Hope, but only to a certain extent.

Hope was exhibiting an extreme amount of patience with him. Saint-ish as Hank frequently painted her, she did have a threshold to her tolerance. As Morty attempted to nab a needed implement for the dozenth time, Hope coolly reached out and snatched up his long tongue in her sticky mutant fingers.

She had him stuck and he was helpless.

"Aaacckkk . . ." he whimpered.

The others stopped their conversations and watched the spectacle with rapt interest.

Looking him right in the goggled eyes, Hope calmly and firmly said, "You're being rude. And if you do that again, you don't get _any_ dessert. Understand?"

The helpless Morty nodded and she let go of his tongue. Then she winked at him with a smile. He grinned back but kept his tongue firmly behind his thin lips.

And of course there was Peter. Dressed as always in silver and black, headphones around his neck, and goggles on his head. He seemed to be having as much fun as always. He moved and talked so fast, he would have given just about anybody fits.

Except Hope.

"Hey, what're you making? What's that you're putting in there? How long does it have to cook for? Can I have some? When's it gonna be done?"

Hope seemed to take him all in stride, answering his many rapid fire questions on after the other. Occasionally she'd ask him to fetch something and he'd seem to have it back before she'd even finished asking for it.

"Can I have more 'cause I helped? I earned it, you know. Can I lick the bowl? When's it gonna be done?"

Once he appeared next to her to dip a finger in the mixing bowl for a taste and she reflexively slapped his hand. He seemed happily surprised, as was Hank. Though he was sure Peter was only moving at quarter speed (for him), hardly anyone ever anticipated his moves quick enough to touch him.

"Nope!" she reprimanded lightly.

"Hey!" he said, clearly amused.

"And when we're done eating," she said with a sly grin, "you get to clean it all up!"

Peter squished his face up in a petulant frown, standing uncharacteristically still.

"Hey! No fair! Why me?"

Hope smiled, patting him sweetly on the cheek.

"Ah, come on, Quicksilver. What've you got to lose? A few seconds?"

Peter continued to pout.

"More like a whole _minute_."

She raised an eyebrow at him expectantly and Hank nearly burst into laughter at her perfect control of the silver-haired nitroglycerin tablet of a teenager. Peter pretended not to notice her direct gaze for a few seconds.

Then he grumbled, "Yes, ma'am." But his heart wasn't really in it.

Hope smiled at him.

"Good boy."

Peter tried to get in his final two cents.

"Aw, come one, Hope, I'm not a puppy."

Hope smiled dismissively.

"I know you're not, sweetie. Now go fetch me some more flour, please."

Peter rolled his eyes good-naturedly before disappearing and reappearing instantaneously with a bag of flour.

Max and Ink hung back somewhat at a table, quietly watching the more social mutants in the room interact. They usually seemed shy in the presence of others. Hank thought it was because of the physical appearance of their abilities. In short, he suspected that they thought they were ugly and looked like freaks. And that they were outsiders for having such negative powers. And they thought everyone else felt the same.

So as a gesture of silent camaraderie, Hank entered the room and sat with them. They looked at him furtively until he nodded and smiled. They hesitantly returned the acknowledgement and then resumed watching the others' entertainment.

Hope noticed Hank's intentional self-placement and her warm, bright eyes showed him her appreciation and adoration. As always, he felt a swelling glow in his chest.

Right at that moment, he felt very lucky to be where he was and who he was.

Soon the scrumptious smelling dessert was ready. With an enduring patience, Hope gently reprimanded Peter that _no he may not have the first bite just because he 'helped' so much_ but to take a run and tell everyone that a treat was awaiting in the kitchen.

In a flash, he was gone and Hope and Chloe, finally edging away from Alex, began to portion out plates of yummy-smelling goodness.

Apparently, one other person thought the guys in the corner weren't so bad either.

That person was Chloe.

When the first plate was ready, she floated it in the air and set it down carefully in front of shy Ink. He accepted it and the floating spoon with a tiny, self-conscious smile as well and Chloe practically glowed.

Alex was left off to the side, once more confused and baffled.

Hank smiled at Max and Ink, barely restraining a laugh at Alex.

_Man, nobody wants Alex, do they? Ha ha._

Hank would have been lying if he'd said he wasn't enjoying it just a little.

* * *

"Hey, I need to wash some clothes. I bet a house this large is bound to have top notch laundry facilities."

Hank looked up from his microscope.

Hope stood in the doorway to his lab with a basket of clothes. Her long dark hair was in a ponytail and her orange toenailed feet were bare. She wore a white Doobie Brothers t-shirt and Hank remembered that her current favorite song of all time was 'Listen to the Music'. It always made her dance and he didn't mind that at all.

She had chosen to spend her weekend at the Manor much the abashment of her parents, who were on a camping vacation. She remembered the telephone conversation with her mother quite well.

"Oh sweetie. You could stay at our home, you know."

"Thanks, but I've got a room there."

"But what will people think of you? What will that do to your reputation?"

"Mom, the only person who can mess up my reputation is me. And I'm not going to do that. And Hank is a gentleman, okay? You can trust him. I do."

"Of course, but dear . . ."

"Mom, do you trust me?"

"Yes, of course."

"Then trust me. I love you, Mom. Thank you for caring about me."

Her mother seemed to accept it as much as she could. And Hope did truly appreciate her mother caring.

Now she stood in Hank's lab watching him pull himself away from his work. And look up at her with those bespectacled baby blues she loved so much.

"Hmm? Oh. Yeah," he said agreeably.

Hank removed his lab coat, left his research, and led her to the downstairs laundry room. There were several sets of enormous washers and dryers in the large, airy space along with four ironing boards, and a long clothes line strung off to the side. There were also several shelves of various fabric cleaning sundries to choose from.

"Wow, it's a regular Laundromat in here," Hope commented, looking around.

Hank shrugged.

"No use causing a mutant clash with people fighting over washers and dryers," he related.

Hope grinned.

"Sounds like college."

Hank watched as she chose a washer and unceremoniously dumped her items in. With her back turned, Hank was able to openly admire her without embarrassment.

As she leaned over for something, the back of her shirt rode up a little and he glimpsed the smooth skin of her lower back.

"What the people need is a way to make 'em smile. Ain't so hard to do if you know how . . ."

He grinned.

_Does she even realize she's singing it under her breath?_

He also noticed her blue shorts. They weren't the shortest shorts he'd ever seen, but he could definitely admire her legs in them.

"Hi."

He was caught.

He glanced up at her face and saw her looking over her shoulder at him. Her face wore a teasing grin and a quirked eyebrow.

Hank felt the warmth of embarrassment spread over his face and he looked away.

"I'm sorry."

He sensed her approaching but did not look at her.

"Why?"

He glanced around nervously, at the walls, at the appliances, the cleaning supplies. At anything but her.

"Well, I was . . . didn't mean to . . ."

She tilted her head at him, a smile still playing about her lips.

"Yes, you did."

As he continued to stammer, she put a hand to his cheek and turned his face to hers so he had to look her directly in the eyes. He stopped attempting to talk.

"And it's okay, Hank."

Her brown eyes were so warm and deep he felt hypnotized by them.

"Yeah?"

She grinned broader.

"Yeah."

And then she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him. He let her, savoring the touch of her soft lips.

Then she put her head down on his chest with her arms wrapped around him, giggling.

"What?" he said, wondering if he had done something wrong.

"Oh nothing," she said, "It's just very grounding to know that powerful, future-changing mutants have to stop and do their laundry every once in a while. And here I was thought it was just me doing a wash of underthings on a Saturday morning.

_Underthings? Frilly, lacey underthings? Are they different colors?_

_Don't think about my underthings. They're not yours yet. But they are there, you know._

Then Hope suddenly let go and without looking back, walked to the door.

_Um, bye?_

But she did not leave. She closed the door and locked it. Then turning back with a grin, hopped up onto a nearby rumbling dryer.

And beckoned to him.

_Oh._

He went to her and she rested her wrists on his shoulders, lightly caressing the sensitive skin at the nape of his neck.

"Now, what was I saying?" she whispered, drawing close to him, her nose almost touching his.

His arms went around her waist and he couldn't quite think straight.

"I, uh, really don't know," he murmured honestly.

She smiled, removed his glasses, and carefully placed them on a nearby shelf before speaking.

"Oh, yeah. I remember . . ."

And then she kissed him again. He responded to her, reveling in her touch, her smell, her taste.

Apparently he was doing something right because he felt the smile upon her lips and she pulled him closer to her.

Pressing him right against the side of the warm, undulating dryer. Which was, well, _vibrating_ parts of him. He started to move back but Hope murmured something nonsensical and pulled him closer to her again.

He tried to communicate his, well, not _discomfort_, not exactly, but his _situation_.

Muttering around her inviting lips, "But Hope . . . the dryer . . ."

Then her fingers started stroking light, caressing trails through his dark hair and he forgot what he was trying to say. Forgot about everything but her.

For the moment.

Suddenly, a rapid banging commenced on the door that could only be Peter, the Quicksilver Kid.

'Hey, open the door. Guys, guys, you guys, you in there, guys? Hello?"

Hank jerked away and Hope's gentle hands massaged the air in front of his face for a moment.

"Ye . . . ah?" Hank managed.

Impatient shuffling from the other side of the door. Hope's hands found Hank's blue and yellow striped shirt and her sticky mutant fingers pulled him back close again though she did not try to kiss him. Yet.

"Hank? The door's locked. I need in. Is Hope in there? What, are you guys making out or something?" Peter rapid-fired.

Hope's head dropped down onto Hank's collarbone and a good-natured burst of laughter welled up out of her.

"Well, yeah, we _were_ until you showed up . . ." she called lightly.

Hank blanched.

"Hope!" he whispered, completely shocked. Though he supposed he really shouldn't have been.

Hope ignored his embarrassed alarm with a grin.

". . . so go _away_ now, please. _Thank you_!"

As she moved to resume her kissing of her Hank, Peter called out again.

"Well hurry it up, will you? I need my underwear!"

This time they both laughed and that relieved Hank's embarrassment just a little.

"_Peter_!" Hope yelled.

"What, man?" he called back through the door. "It's _cold_ out here!"

Hank looked into Hope's bright face, so close to his own. She was smiling, eyes sparkling, and the light spots of color high on her cheekbones made her look more beautiful than ever.

He kissed the tip of her nose affectionately.

"I think you're sitting on his dryer."

* * *

**Really no reason to write this except for fun. **

"**Listen to the Music" by the Doobie Brothers is the most awesome song of its genre ever. **

**Want a flashback? Youtube 'Disney Channel DTV - Doobie Brothers - Listen to the Music Donald Duck' and forget your worries and cares for a few minutes. :D**

**I'm a little cautious on giving Alex a love interest since he's all saved for MoonlightShadowsoftheHumanSoul, right, sweetie? *winks**

**Thanks to Shanynde, X . Kuchisake - Onna . X, Aletta-Feather, ChiefPam, MoonlitShadowsoftheHumanSoul, I've Been a Labrat, (& sorry for tearing up your heart in the one before), and brigid1318 for coming back and having fun after all the angst.**

**You know, there are some very important issues that can no longer just be _ignored_. *hides snicker behind hand.**


	12. Aesthetic Considerations

I do not own X-Men anything.

You'd think I'd run out of words by now. You'd be wrong.

Reaching Out

Chapter 12: Aesthetic Considerations

* * *

Hope perused the stores along the strip, looking for something special to cook to surprise Hank and the others in Xavier Manor. Well, mostly Hank. She wasn't sure yet what she was looking for but she figured she'd know it when she saw it.

As she walked along the busy street, she observed many different types of people. Male, female. Short, tall. Heavy, thin. Dark, light. Young, old. Well-to-do, poor. Healthy, ill. Smiling, frowning.

They were all interesting in their own special ways. They all had something to offer, something to teach, something to share.

Though she preferred some of them share with people other than her.

Suddenly one person walking toward her caught her eye and she almost walked into a parking meter trying not to stare at him.

He was big, for one thing. Not freakishly big but built with muscle and height and presence. At least as tall as her Hank. He wore jeans, a white undershirt, leather jacket, and boots.

As solidly built as he appeared to be and considering the boots he was wearing, Hope almost expected the ground to shudder everytime he took a step.

It didn't.

Another striking thing about him was his face. He wore big, dark shades (Hope always hated those; she felt like people hid behind them) and his dark, brooding scowl was evident even behind the reflective barrier he wore. And of there was his most curiously groomed dark brown beard. It was just, well . . .

She kept getting the feeling she'd seen him somewhere before. It lingered at the back of her mind, humming just out of reach like a dragonfly on the wing.

She noticed his hair last and didn't know how she had missed it.

It was brown and curiously styled and the beard seemed to connect with it right up into his sideburns. It lent him a wild, animalist aura.

_Whoa, groovy hair, Wolfy._

Then he swept past her in the crowd without a single glance and was gone.

Then inspiration struck and Hope suddenly knew what she was going to do. It was totally different than what she had originally intended. She would need shearing scissors and Chloe's back up.

She was pretty sure she'd get both.

* * *

"Well, you know, I think I'll just wait on that," Charles was saying, rolling slowly backward. "But I do appreciate your offer."

Hope advanced carefully like a stranger to a jittery kitty cat.

"It won't hurt, you know. I do it all the time in my dorm."

Charles continued his mannerly retreat.

"I'm thinking of taking care of that myself tomorrow. So as you can see, there's really no need."

Hope grinned wickedly.

"I know, sweetie. But you know, we've got tonight . . ." she began.

". . . who needs tomorrow?" asked another female voice behind him.

Charles' slow roll stopped as Chloe gripped the handlebars of his wheelchair.

"Boy, I'm sure glad you showed up so this doesn't have to be a total boy's club, Chloe," Hope quipped mischievously.

He glanced at her and then behind him to Chloe. Who smiled devilishly and then exchanged mischievous winks with Hope.

And then Charles knew his goose was cooked.

He called out with his powers to the other males of the Manor. Surely they would understand and come to his aid.

_Alex?_

_Hey, man. 33, 34 . . ._

_I need your help with the girls._

_Ah, attractive, smooth guy like you. 38, 39. You got this. _

_That is absolutely repulsive, Alex. They're my _friends_._

_43, 44 . . .Well, not entirely repulsive. They are hot and it's the '70s, man. _

_Alex . . ._

_Fine, just kidding. Jeez. Got cheeseburgers? 47 . . ._

_No . . ._

_Then you're on your own. 49 . . ._

He tried Morty, Ink, and Max.

_Gentlemen, a little assistance, please._

_Sorry, sir, but Chloe threatened to clobber us if we helped you tonight._

_Lads, she's only a girl. _

_Oh man, do not let her . . . yes, Spock! . . . hear you say that!_

_Now, you know, I _am_ in charge of this manor . . ._

_Yeah, but she'll . . . ah don't say it, Kirk! . . . cut our butts off, man._

Aggravated, his head currently being spritzed with tepid water, Charles cried out to Hank.

_Henry, my dearest friend . . ._

_Sorry, Charles, elbow deep in an experiment here. Just can't get away._

_But they'll _listen_ to you._

_That's funny that you'd think that, being an intelligent man and a telepath and all._

_Oh, but the humanity of it all . . ._

_We're mutants, Charles. The mutantity of it all. Hey, mutantity, mutiny. Get it? _

And so, without friend or ally, all abandoned and lost to those who held him withstrained and helpless, Charles was left alone to face the evil women who bound themselves in guise of innocent, lovely girls.

And they, together, they did it.

Together, they both did it to him. And he couldn't stop them. Those girls took advantage of the poor, helpless, crippled man in the wheelchair.

They cut his hair.

When it was over, he felt a bit violated and quite shorn.

Even if it didn't hurt in the least bit and looked rather good when all was said and done.

It was the principal of the thing.

* * *

Odd how easily they convened from time to time. As if called by an unspoken force to gather together and discuss things.

"You know, not to be shallow or difficult, but the lawns look kind of bad," Alex said conversationally to Charles.

"Quite right," Charles commented easily.

"Hey, you got money, right, you're loaded," Peter started talking almost before he appeared. "Why don't you just _pay_ someone to come clean it up?"

Chloe joined the conversation, seemingly having popped out of the ground.

"We could do it you know, it'd be . . ."

"Torture," Peter added helpfully.

"Insane," Alex suggested.

"Team building," Hope finished, having snuck up from behind and wrapped her arms around Hank. Who did not mind at all.

Hank, absently playing with her fingers, considering the fact that the woman he loved and his pancake girl had both simultaneously lost their marbles.

Charles remained quiet for a long moment, much too long for Peter's liking.

"Well, it's been a gas and all, but I'm . . ."

He was going to say 'off' but Charles laid a hand on his arm and replied for him.

". . . in charge of mowing. I'm sure we can repair the push mower."

"The _what_?" Peter said, raising his eyebrows in disbelief.

Charles commented, "Yes, this would be a good team building activity and everyone could practice using their powers in a controlled environment while accomplishing something at the same time."

Peter folded his arms.

"Well I suppose I could spare a few sec . . ."

Charles interrupted him.

"And since we want the lawn to look good, you'll need to move at half speed, I think."

Peter balked.

"Ah, man. _Really_?"

Charles nodded his assent.

"And you'll need to cut it at least twice."

* * *

Chloe challenged Hank to a competition to see who could use their powers to lift and carry the most brush, stray branches, and other refuse. Hank, in a wonderful fit of freedom, allowed the beast to take the challenge. At first he felt conspicuous and uneasy about his appearance until he realized that nobody was watching him. Except Hope who seemed to be in the process of smiling herself to death.

Alex assisted the pair of them by chopping down over grown shrubs and tree branches with his power rings.

Ink and Morty found a positive outlet for their powers by stopping legions of biting, buzzing, stinging insects literally dead in their tracks.

Hope convinced Max played catch football and Frisbee in and around the workers as civilian dodge practice.

Charles encouraged everyone and occasionally thwarted Beast's and Chloe's competition by freezing them in place and challenging them to block their minds from him.

He also insisted on distracting everyone's work with kooky brain teasers.

_Five minute water break to anyone who can tell me where do dishonest berries grow r-egularly?_

_Man, that's totally cheesy._

_The li-brary!_

_Very good! Chloe still gets the break!_

_Still cheesy, dude._

Hank fumbled a few large branches as Hope flew through his line of vision.

_Wow, she really does catch every time. Even with all the bending . . . and stretching._

And Hank wasn't the only person with working eyes.

Ink, performing mass insecticide on a colony of wasps angrily defending their nests, was distracted momentarily by a certain green-eyed pixie girl. Chloe, who was performing an impromptu victory celebration over beating Hank's current record, caught his eye with her happy dance. His focus wavered and nearby, Hank felt his stomach flip over. He gritted his teeth until the sudden wave of nausea passed and resolved speak with Charles about Ink's target practice under stress.

Peter even stopped in his flashing mowing long enough to complain.

"Hey, why do they get to play while we work?"

Alex and his roving eyes, replied before his brain caught up with his mouth.

"I don't know but all that bouncing around is sure making _me_ feel better."

Hank, cuffed Alex on the head with a tree branch slung over his shoulder as he walked by.

"Ow!"

Hank maintained a straight face as he spoke.

"Oops, sorry, that must've slipped."

Peter pointed and belted out a laugh at the surprise on Alex's face then sped off with the push mower once more.

Chloe turned around, agog at Hank.

"Did you just make a _joke_?" she mouthed silently.

Hank shrugged and winked conspiratorially.

Chloe burst into gales of laughter and Alex rubbed his head, grumbling.

After swiftly completely his mowing duties, Peter appeared at Charles' side.

"Hey, you don't mind, do you?"

Caught off guard, Charles was immediately lost.

"Mind what, Peter?"

Smirking, Peter clapped his hands together.

"Thanks!"

And he was gone. Charles shook his head, resigned.

"I really should control him."

_But I just can't._

* * *

When Charles called for a good morning's work, they found Peter in the kitchen with stacks and stacks of hot pizzas.

He looked at Charles and said with an impish grin, "Don't worry, I put your credit card back."

Charles suppressed a glare and oncoming lecture to Peter. It did smell quite good.

"Pizza," Alex said with a grimace. "Ugh, I'm so hot I think I'm going to be sick."

Peter grinned.

"Well, in that case . . ."

He flung open the freezer to reveal boxes and boxes of ice cream goodies.

"Whoo-hooo!" sang Ink, making everyone jump.

It was the first time anyone had heard him speak above a whisper.

* * *

Hank woke up and lay still in his bed.

_Well, that was a weird dream._

He got up, and looked outside at the neatly manicured lawn. smelling freshly cut grass even through the closed window.

And burped cookies and cream ice cream.

_Wasn't it?_

* * *

**If you thoughts this gonna be serious, then tricked ya! ;) (Yes, yes, there will be angst again in several chapters.)**

**So who was that mysterious stranger you might ask? Well, who do you think?**

**Haha, too early for that Kenny Rogers ref (1978) but they didn't _sing_ it. They _said_ it. Totally different! *smirks at poor Charles**

**Hey, I've Been a Labrat, how cool is it that we both publish about Charles and haircuts on the _same_ _day_? Dude, I swear I did not plan this!**

**Yes, the last part went totally campy. But seriously dudes, I _hate_ mowing the lawn with my crummy little push mower in the flipping dead of summer. Blech!**

**Thanks to angeleye02, I've Been a Labrat, MoonlitShadowsoftheHumanSoul, brigid1318, and lol (& your honesty) for choosing to review. **

**You know, it'd really be amazing to fly . . .**


	13. Fly Like An Eagle

I do not own X-Men anything.

You'd think I'd run out of words by now. You'd be wrong.

Reaching Out

Chapter 13: Fly Like an Eagle

* * *

Chloe sat in her usual spot on one of the turrets of Xavier Manor, watching the figure. Graceful and light as a bird on the updrafts of the warm summer breezes, it did not have wings, but appeared to simply float and glide in the air.

She smiled dreamily, wondering for the dozenth time what it would be like to be that awesomely free.

After a few more minutes of testing his thresholds of maximum altitude and flying maneuvers, Ink glided over to Chloe and landed next to her. He removed off a heavy-looking black vest and laid it on the ground, now clad only in a t-shirt and sweatpants.

Then he self-consciously sat himself next to her and she handed him a container of something dark and thick.

"What's this?"

She grinned sunnily, obviously proud of herself.

"It's a power smoothie I made for you. So you don't feel so tired after using your powers."

He smiled at her, his phoenix power tattoo crinkling.

"Thank you."

She beamed as he sipped it experimentally and smacked his lips together a little.

"It's really good. What's in it?"

Chloe counted on her fingers, listing the ingredients.

"Um, peanut butter, chocolate, frozen banana,and milk."

He nodded, continuing to sip and looking out over the vista.

They sat together in companionable silence for a while.

Then Chloe spoke.

"So, nobody calls you 'Eric', huh?"

Ink shrugged, shaking his head.

"Do you _want_ them to call you 'Eric'?"

He thought about it. All those times. The tauntings. The beatings. The helplessness.

"No," he said finally. "It was the name I heard whenever I was getting chased and beat up. I think I prefer 'Ink'. It has more power."

Chloe nodded. Resisting the urge to reach out and touch one of his many tattoos. Probably'd freak him out, she mused.

"Ink, it is then."

After a few more minutes, she spoke again.

"It must so groovy to fly. You're so lucky!"

He didn't hear any hint of manipulation or self-pity in her voice, which strengthened his resolve even more. Taking a deep breath, he turned to her.

"Do you want to?"

Chloe looked at him, pleasantly surprised he was actually looking directly at her. His eyes were so blue.

"Want to what?"

He smiled a little. She'd been watching him practice a lot recently. She never said or did anything during his flight. She just watched. But it had still freaked him out and he'd almost stopped flying entirely. He'd even gone to Charles for help.

"Do you, um, would you, um, make her stop somehow?" he'd requested after a short explanation.

Charles had responded kindly.

"It's called friendship and support, Ink. You could do with some, I believe."

So Charles had been no help at all. Ink had continued flying. And Chloe had continued watching.

He wasn't comfortable with her, not exactly, but at least he could breathe around her. Talk at little. As long as those hypnotizing green eyes didn't stare at him too intently.

"Fly," he said to her.

She grinned.

"Of course! I mean, it's _so_ cool! Who wouldn't?!"

Ink tried not to sound nervous.

"I mean, do you want to fly with me?"

Chloe stared at him, not daring to look hopeful.

"Really? Won't that drain you too much?"

He shook his head.

"I've been practicing with weighted vests."

Chloe glanced over at the discarded vest.

"Yeah?"

He nodded tentatively.

"So I could fly you. I mean if you wanted . . ."

Chloe beamed.

"Yes! When?"

He shrugged.

"Now?"

She paused only for the briefest of seconds before leaping to her feet.

"Okay! Where?"

Ink stood up and started to show her but words burst out of her all over again.

"And don't say 'to the moon' 'cause that's impossible and it sounds really hokey!"

He smiled despite his roiling stomach, realizing her nerves were getting the better of her too.

_Does anyone really say that?_

He pointed to a massive tree with thick, strong branches on the other side of the clearing. It looked very far away to Chloe.

"We'll go to that tree and land on a low branch, okay?"

She nodded again, looking more nervous than ever.

"Okay, what do I do? Click my heels together?"

_She's absolutely terrified. Me too._

"Piggyback."

Chloe blushed furiously.

"Do _what_?"

Ink turned around with his back to her.

"Put your arms around my neck and piggyback."

_Oh, I'm just going to die! Thank goodness I decided to wear a bra._

Chloe carefully wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. Ink held his arms out at his sides for added balance, tilted toward the ground, tipping off the roof in a dive.

_Oh sh-_

As the ground rushed up at them, Chloe cut loose a high shriek and her arms clenched around Ink's neck nearly cutting off his air supply.

As he caught the updraft and evened them out, Chloe continued to scream, locking his neck in a death grip.

As she drew a deep breath for another scream, Ink called out.

"Chloe, loosen up! Can't . . . breathe!"

She did, just a little, he thought, and her ear blistering screams lost some of their volume.

The flight was short but never seemed longer to the girl clinging to the flying man's back. She kept her eyes clenched shut for most of it. He on the other hand, was concentrating so much on adjusting his flight for her weight that his senses barely registered her body actually pressed to his.

When they landed on the branch, Ink's legs wobbled and he grasped the tree trunk, trying not to gasp for air.

"Chloe" he croaked, his voice garbled and choked, "let go."

She peeped one eye open and saw they had landed on the aforementioned branch. She reached one hand out to a branch slightly above her eye level to steady herself and relinquished her grip on the tattooed young man who had just flown with her on his back.

He looked at her, worried.

"Are you okay?"

She was shaking.

"Uh-huh."

Her light tone was not believable.

"Do you want to climb down the tree and walk back?"

She stared at the ground. It was very far away. And she walked on it all the time. She never flew.

"Just give me a minute."

He did.

_Congrats, you tattooed idiot. She's gonna puke and never speak to you again._

Chloe did not puke. And, after a few minutes spent breathing deeply, she did speak to him again.

"Can you fly me back?"

He nodded slowly.

"Yes."

She turned to him.

"Okay, fly me back."

He looked at her closely. She was still pale but her shaking had stopped. Her green eyes were still bright with fear but she seemed to be recovering.

"Are you sure?"

She nodded, anticipation beginning to heckle her fear.

_He's offering to _fly_ you! Fly, fly, fly!_

"I promise I won't scream," she said, attempting a winning smile.

_I think._

He grinned at her resiliency and bravery. Open flight was terrifying the first time. He'd nearly blacked out and killed himself the first time.

"Okay."

And she didn't. She never made a single sound and she even kept her eyes open the entire time as well. Taking in everything she had missed on the first flight. Ink would have thought she had passed out except for her solid-yet-not-choking grip on him.

They glided back like silent hawks to their nests. Halfway back, Ink's strength started to flag and he was seeing spots.

_I will not crash her into the ground. I will not crash her into the ground._

And he didn't.

They made it (barely) back onto the turret from where they'd started. He nearly collapsed upon landing but kept his feet, not wanting to embarrass her. He concentrated on taking deep, even breaths and ignoring the pulsating spots in front of his eyes. She released her grip almost immediately and turned, staring back the way they had come, mouth agape.

Ink shakily sat down, grabbing the smoothie she had made especially for him. He sipped it.

Still delicious.

He looked over at her, standing still. Suddenly, she leaped high into the air, screaming and yelling and cheering.

"OHMYGOSHTHATWASSOFREAKINGAWESOMETHATWASAMAZINGANDYOU'REAMAZINGOHINKILOVEYOUTHANKYOU . . ."

_Love me? Did she just say she _loves_ me?_

Chloe crouched down, kissed his cheek, and he flushed. She didn't notice for she immediately stood back up and went right on screaming at the air.

"IMEANDIDYOUSEETHATIWASFLYINGWELLYOUWEREFLYINGANDOHMYGOSH . . ."

Ink just watched her go. Other than passing out, it was all he could do.

* * *

Inside, unseen by the high fliers, Hank and Hope watched from a window as the pair soared back from the tree.

Hope said, "It must be so cool to fly."

He thought back to his ministrations during the Paris flight. Well, before Charles and Erik's hissy fits had nearly crashed them.

"I can teach you," he offered casually.

She looked at him.

"What do you mean?"

He smiled.

"I have a jet. Well, Charles' jet. But I'm the one who flys it."

Her eyes gleamed.

"Let's go!"

* * *

As they reached cruising altitude, Hank set the proper controls and turned to Hope.

She sat next to him in the cockpit where Charles had once seated himself to sulk. He spoke to her through the headphones they both wore. His voice sounded tinny and slightly electronic to his ears but she didn't seem to care.

"Okay, put your hands on your control wheel."

She did so carefully and he switched the 'pilot' controls to 'co-pilot' mode. He removed his hands from his pilot's wheel.

"You're flying now."

Hope sat very still, her face a picture of intense concentration.

Hank smiled at her and her timidity. It did not seem like her at all.

"You move the wheel like in driving a car. It's okay. Try it."

She turned the wheel a little and the plane banked slightly to the right. She gasped, clenching up.

He waited, giving her time.

After a second, she turned the wheel back the other way and the plane banked gently to the left.

She bit her lip a little, straightening the plane out, practically glaring at the puffy, cloud-filled sky.

"If you want to angle down, then push the wheel in."

She tried that and they leaned forward a slight downward dip.

"Now to gain altitude, pull the wheel back toward you."

She followed his directions and the plane climbed back again toward the sun. She evened them out quite nicely.

Finally she exhaled slowly, and her tense body relaxed just a little.

She grinned, whispering.

"This is . . . so amazing!"

Hank's broad grin went unseen as Hope resolutely kept her gaze focused on the open vista.

"I know it's not as cool as actually flying by yourself but . . ."

"Are you kidding?" Hope broke in. "Yeah, Ink's awesome and all, don't get me wrong, but this is controlling an entire _aircraft_! Like if I punched this button here . . ."

She carefully let one hand go of the wheel and pointed . . .

". . . we might drop right out of the sky and crash this entire thing!"

_Uh, ha ha, yeah, don't do that._

She glanced at Hank.

"So . . . you're a scientist, an inventor, a big blue furry beast, _and_ you can fly?"

"Yeah," he conceded easily to her.

"Is there anything you _can't_ do?"

He knew it was cheesy, but he also knew it was true. He couldn't resist saying it. Just to make her smile that smile.

"Live without you."

She blushed a deep red and reached out to kiss him, banking the plane accidently. Without breaking the kiss, he reached out with his left hand and brought it back even. Hope drew back, giggled sheepishly, and patted him on the cheek.

"Alright, loverboy, show me how to land this thing before we join the 'Mile High' club."

"Okay," he said. Then after a few seconds . . . "What's that?"

And Hope laughed.

* * *

******An extra hefty portion of positive waves going out to awesome woman ChiefPam today. Thinking of you, sweetie. :D**

******On a separate note, though I do not need to explain myself or my story, I suppose I shall. Every single chapter of this story is connected by a 'reaching out' theme of one kind or another. I'm just giving these guys their day in the sun. Remember the way the school with the students was introduced to us in the original xmen movies? To start, the kids weren't battling villains or facing the edge of annihilation, they were just kids trying to accept themselves and each other. So that's what I'm doing here. Take it or leave it. **

******If you take it, then yay, let's party! If you leave it, then thanks so much for reading this far and sincerely hope you enjoy whatever you move on to. :)**

**Alrighty . . .**

**Thanks to lol (yay Wolverine! & you know you can just _pretend_ they're one-shots if it makes you happy, sweetie), Pandiichan (more bunny babies acoming), (who caught me sneaking), MoonlitShadowsoftheHumanSoul (& Alex 'ship), my generous verbal bodyguard I've Been a Labrat, Aletta-Feather (who I hope is a better gardener than moi) , and my loyal brigid1318 for speaking up. **

**Next up, a little Hank backstory and Hope has a personal conversation with an inanimate object.**


	14. Meaningful Conversations

I do not own X-Men anything.

You'd think I'd run out of words by now. You'd be wrong.

Reaching Out

Chapter 14: Meaningful Conversations

* * *

"Hank, was I your first kiss?"

He didn't answer right away. They were sitting on the floor of his room, having found it one of the only quiet places they could escape to.

He was sitting cross-legged, back against his bed. Hope was sitting in an armchair with her feet on his knees.

He was painting her toes bright orange. And trying to ignore the fact that her silky smooth legs in those blue shorts were touchably, kissably close.

It had been actually somewhat relaxing. No one could mistakenly call Hank an artist, but when Hope had announced she was going to repaint her toenails, he couldn't resist. Though he couldn't really explain why.

"Can I do it?"

She giggled, slightly baffled as to why he would be interested. But not a whole lot.

"Really?"

He nodded timidly, a small smile lighting up his eyes.

"Yeah. Call it an experiment."

Hope considered this.

_Oh yeah? An experiment in what exactly, Hank? Finding yet _another_ way to turn me on? As if I don't have enough challenge controlling that?_

And so she had gathered her supplies and they had convened in his room. It was quiet and clean and smelled like him. She loved it. She studiously ignored his neatly made bed (_wonder what it would look like all rumpled up) _which seemed to whisper invitingly to her.

_Well, hello._

_Yeah, I see you._

_I know what you're think-ing._

_Of course, I am. You know, I am _normal_ and all._

_You don't have to tell anybody. Just lock the door and go for it._

_Naw, I think I'll leave it unlocked. And you know, _not_ do that._

_Why not? Bet you could convince him pretty easy._

_Nope, not the plan._

_What do you need a plan for? Just feel, baby._

_Not that it's any of your business, but I need a set plan to keep me on track._

_What track? You don't need a track. Everybody else's doing it._

_Like I care what everybody else is doing._

_No, but you care about what _he_ could be doing to _you_._

_Well, _yeah_, but that doesn't change my decision._

_Oh come on. I can tell you what he_ wants_ to do to you . . ._

_Okayyy, I am not going to continue arguing any longer with an inanimate object that is only an anthropomorphization of my own thoughts._

_Big, pretty words. Now about him and you and me . . ._

_Nope. I'm all done here. Not looking at you. Go ahead. I can ignore you all day. Watch me._

"How do you want me to do it?" Hank asked, standing next to her.

Hope turned, staring at him, brown eyes suddenly wide.

"_What?"_

Her shocked expression confused him.

_What'd I say?_

"Paint your toes," he reiterated. "How do I do it? I don't want to make a mess."

She mentally shook herself as the bed giggled knowingly at her.

"Oh, uh, well, you gotta take the old polish off first. . ."

And now here they were.

And she had just dropped a bomb of a question on him. And he had accidently painted his own knuckle in surprise.

_You, my first kiss? I wish._

"No," he admitted quietly, concentrating on her left pinky toe, holding it gently in the fingers of his left hand, polish poised in his right.

_What? Have you hidden the fact that you're actually a rolling ladies' man from me for five years? I love you and the way you are but I really tend to doubt that, sweetie._

"Really?" Hope asked, trying not to sound surprised.

Hank shook his head, carefully removing a stray drop of polish from the side of her toe with his thumbnail.

"Was it her? Raven?"

_Oh, okay, so we're going to continue talking about this. Great._

"No," he replied. "We never actually kissed."

_First Erik showed up and then later she sat on my lap and I embarrassed myself and she shut me down. I really don't want to talk about it._

"So who?"

_Why do you want to know so badly?_

Hope didn't seem angry or petty, only curious and interested in his life experiences. Still, Hank hoped he wasn't about to dig himself into a hole of shame. Not again.

"Well?" she asked.

_Can I have a drink before we do this? Or ten?_

He took a deep breath.

"I went to college young and since everyone else was a lot older, they kind of left me alone and of course, I was quiet and shy."

Hope smiled fondly at him but he couldn't return it. He concentrated on her toes instead.

Left foot complete, Hank bent over and lightly blew on the nails to expedite the drying process. Focused as he was on her foot, he didn't notice Hope's intake of breath as his gentle breath wafted across her skin or the shiver she could not entirely contain.

He sighed at her orange-painted keratin. She was so beautiful. What they had was so fantastic. He didn't want to ruin it by telling this story and admitting his disgrace all over again.

Still, his Hope had asked and so now he must answer her.

"And this one night they were having a party and I was in my room trying to study and some guys ran in and they were drunk and picked me up, took me downstairs and, um, shoved me in this coat closet and locked the door."

He stopped, flushing with shame and embarrassment.

"There was a . . . freshman college girl in there and she was drunk too and she grabbed me by my shirt and, uh, we, uh . . ." he stammered, unable to go on.

"Kissed?" Hope suggested gently, already guessing the truth and not wishing to make him relive it.

_Oh my sweet Hank. You poor thing._

But if she stopped him now, he would think it was because of embarrassment of him and not the pain of the story itself. So she let him continue.

Hank nodded. Big toe, middle toe.

"She was very, uh, curvy, and she grabbed my hands and uh put them . . ." he was going to say 'all over', but his voice failed and he stopped again.

Hope waited patiently. Hank stared at his now grown hands curved around Hope's foot, painting the toes, thinking back.

The girl's curves had felt very good, he couldn't lie, but there was a sense of wrongness about the whole thing. He didn't even know her name, and she didn't seem particularly nice or kind. Just harsh and coarse.

At the time, he was kind of blindsided and she was, in fact, a _girl_.

Hank paused in his painting, adjusted his glasses anxiously, accidentally dabbing the side of his nose with a spot of orange. Hope casually caressed his face and wiped it off without alerting him to the fact that it was even there.

Then he continued painting, his gaze narrowed in on the toes of her right foot. Fourth toe, pinky toe. They were his anchors in this suddenly unsettled sea of emotional remembrance.

"They opened the door after about thirty seconds. They were laughing and pointing and they took a snapshot. Then she pushed me away, and she was laughing too and they all left together. It was a prank. I saw her on campus after that and she'd always snicker and then ignore me."

He refused to consider what might have happened had the prank had gone on any longer. He remained focused on Hope's toes.

Hope sighed, her face dark with compassion. She finally spoke in a low whisper.

"Oh Hank, that was very cruel. How old were you?"

"13," he replied factually. Factual was something he could deal with easier than emotional just now.

She grimaced, anger and compassion swirling around inside her.

Task complete, Hank closed up the polish container and meticulously put all her little supplies back in little bag, setting it aside.

They remained quiet for a few moments. Hank staring miles past her orange toes still reposed on his knees. Hope considering the crown of his neatly brushed hair and all he had so painfully revealed as his fingers absently stroked the sides of her feet.

Finally she spoke calmly, quietly.

"So I am your first _real_ kiss, you know."

Hank raised his head and gazed into her lovely, open face. Her brown eyes were warmer than ever and he almost smiled then.

_I really shouldn't be surprised, I suppose. I mean, this is Hope we're talking about here._

Then Hope, quite innocently, said, "You know, that's a closet over _there_."

Hank glanced at it without understanding her intent.

"Yes."

She smiled at him, teasingly.

"Come on. I'll show you how to play that game the _right_ way."

She rose from the chair, tugging gently on his hand but he remained stubbornly where he was.

"Have you . . . played?" he asked, not really wanting to know the answer.

She sighed, knowing the bravery it took for him to venture such a question that he obviously did not want to know the answer to. Especially after such a painful retelling of his own miserable story.

But she knew he required and deserved the truth.

"Yes, once at a house party. It was a guy I liked from middle school."

Hank tried not to let his face reflect his instant roil of jealousy. Hope smiled and sat back down, this time beside him, her face turned to his. She did not run her fingers through his hair or caress his face. She did not want him to think she was trying to distract him from her words.

He needed honesty and trust after being hurt so much by women before. This awful college girl that Hope would very much enjoy punching in the face repeatedly. The woman Raven who apparently had her own set of difficult issues that Hank had struggled (and failed) to support her through.

Hope simply held one of his hands with her own and told him the truth.

"After one kiss, we got so nervous we ended up just sitting down on the floor and talking about 'I Love Lucy' until they opened the door."

Hank felt slightly better.

Then Hope said, "I also got kissed the regular way, at the end of dates."

And Hank was jealous all over again.

_Ugh, I'm on an emotional rollercoaster. _

And Hope continued, now smiling impishly.

"But there was this one guy, Hank, that was _really_ special, I could tell."

She nudged him playfully.

"I kinda of always hoped that _he'd_ kiss me."

Hank gazed at her, starting to feel better, a tentative smile playing on his face. She smiled back and then re-emphasized her last statement.

". . . _kiss_ _me_," she repeated, grinning.

He nodded vacantly, continuing to stare into her beautiful eyes until she leaned forward.

"_Hank_."

"Huh?"

"Kiss me!"

"Oh!'

And so he did, quite happily. Several times. For quite a while. He even touched her a little too. And she, his Hope, _she _didn't push him away or laugh. Though she did remove his glasses and place them out of the way on the whispering bed.

Her pretty toes, unfortunately, got slightly smudged.

She didn't really mind.

* * *

**Okay, okay. The bed/Hope conversation was weird I suppose but it was necessary to show her frame of mind and resiliency to, how we say, her inner desires?**

**'Later she sat on my lap and I embarrassed myself and she shut me down.' ~ This is a reference to a deleted part of the Hank/Raven microscope scene from FC. Hank tries to be a smooth operator and kiss Raven and she shuts him down. It is very painful and embarrassing to watch. *shudders**

**As always, thanks to the gentle reviewers brigid1318, ChiefPam, Aletta-Feather, Shanynde, MoonlitShadowsoftheHumanSoul, and I've Been a Labrat for your continued support.**

**You know, I think Alex may need our help here quite soon. **


	15. Alone in the Darkness

I do not own X-Men anything.

You'd think I'd run out of words by now. You'd be wrong.

Reaching Out

**(Warning: This chapter is rated M for horror. Just to be safe.)**

Chapter 15: Alone in the Darkness

* * *

Alex was having a bad dream. A very bad dream.

Blood glistened wetly on the ground, foul smelling smoke hung in the air, bodies still and crumpled.

But that smell, that smell was the worst of all.

It was the smell of barbeque. Which he had loved as a youngster.

No longer.

This war-torn part of the land known as Vietnam had no barbeque.

And barbeque was simply the smell of pork. Cooked and roasted over a slow burning fire.

Such as the one the soldiers before him had set in the foundations of the wood building where they had trapped all the little children.

And Alex, several miles back with his platoon, had been too late to save them.

But not too late for the horrible smell to dissipate.

And now it filled his nostrils with a sickening, cloyingly sweet smell of burnt, crisped meat.

He was breathing them into his lungs. The essences, the spirits, the purity of their innocent souls.

He could not stop breathing. Or breathing them in.

He knew. He had tried.

But he could lose control of his bodily functions.

Alex, the good mutant soldier, staggered over to a tree and gripping it with one hand, his gun held away from him in the other, retched up the meager meal he had consumed only a few hours ago.

As he was wiping his mouth, screams drifted into his ears.

_The children? They're . . . alive?_

Hope overtook his good sense and he lurched up, recklessly, desperately throwing a red ring into the charred building, blasting a hole into the side.

More barbeque aroma, stronger now, drifted out from the clearing smoke within. And he saw the still, blackened bodies.

_The children? Alive?_

They were not.

The screaming, the wailing was not the children, though their dying cries must have been horrible to hear.

As he cast his burning, tearing eyes about, Alex saw a flailing, pitiful creature.

It was a woman, or had once been.

She was naked. Chained to a post by her neck. Head scalped of hair. Covered in blood. Certain, defining bits had been sliced off her by those men long gone.

She stretched out desperate hands over and over again toward the building of the damned.

She was screaming not in pain, but in grief for her children.

As more soldiers appeared around him, shouting and cursing, Alex's vision dimmed and went black. The screams and that smell faded more slowly

* * *

"NO! _NO_! _**NO**_!"

The distraught cries within sounded as from the deepest pits of midnight in Hell.

Hank banged on the door of the bedroom.

"Open the door, Alex! Alex!"

The man inside kept shouting and ranting and Hank knew he could not wait for Charles.

Beasting out for his own protection, he opened the door and entered the darkened room one cautious foot at a time.

"Alex?"

And then he saw him, his beast night vision cutting through the weeping shadows.

Calm, cool, collected Alex Summers was hunkered in a corner of his bedroom. His eyes were wild. His breathing harsh and ragged as he gasped desperately for air. Sweat had already soaked through his sleep clothes and now they clung to him as if he had been walking in the rain.

But knowing Vietnam, he probably wasn't thinking of rain.

_What has he seen? What has he had to endure?_

"Alex?"

Alex's entire body jerked and he stared at Hank with open, terrified eyes. But those blue eyes did not see him. Rather straight through him and at the unseen horrors of the past.

"Alex," Hank said softly.

"They were just people, just like us!" he yelled. "Children! They didn't do anything! I wasn't fast enough! I didn't save them! They were just _people_!"

_Soylent green is people!_ Charlton Heston yelled in Hank's frazzled mind before he shook himself mentally. _Wait, focus, your friend needs you._

Hank had experienced a few similar episodes with Charles, though those had been brought on by a mixture of too many chemicals rather than the post-traumatic stress disorder so common among war-ravaged veterans. Hank reduced himself to human form and turned to the open hallway.

Morty pushed to the front of the small group crowding the hall.

"He's back there," he said simply to Hank, for once without jest or mischief in his voice.

Hank looked into those discombobulating googles and didn't need to ask where 'there' was.

"Can you help him?"

Morty seemed grim.

"I don't know. I was there too. Might make it worse."

Hank shrugged.

"I don't think that's possible. Will you try?"

Morty hesitated, then nodded. Crossing the threshold, he peered into the room.

"We don't want him to run. I'm going to close the door," Hank told a wide-eyed Peter. "Tell Charles to get in my head."

And shut the door.

_Calm him down. Have to calm him down. Bring him back from wherever he is._

The room was dark. Too dark. Hank turned on a lamp next to him and as Alex flinched away from it, Hank threw a cloth over it to diffuse the light.

Now the light brightened the room just out of total darkness.

The room was in a disarray. Bedsheets flung to the floor. Items scattered off the bedside table. Lamp overturned.

The blond man himself, still sobbing and huddled on the floor.

Morty walked slowly toward him.

_Just one should go to him now. Otherwise it might freak him out more. Like we're ganging up and attacking._

Hank stayed near the door, sitting on his heels, hands relaxed and easy on his knees.

"Hey, man," Morty said.

Alex's eyes rolled up to the goggled ones and he flinched away. Morty slowly removed his goggles from his face, placing them up on his head, Maximoff-style.

Hank had never seen his eyes before. They were faintly amphibian-shaped and the irises and pupils and corneas were all completely black.

Morty squinted in the light for a moment, then bent down. His unique eyes were extremely sensitive to UV light and so he wore the goggles to shield himself from the its painful glare and shield others from the startling visage of his eyes.

But now, huddled in the shadows, he could see easily.

And what he saw before him was a man. A man who had walked through Hell and lived to tell about it. A man who had internalized that hell within him and refused to let it go. Because he thought he deserved to be punished.

Punished for not saving them all.

Morty knew. Because he had walked through the same wasteland.

And so Morty the Toad knelt next to the trembling man. And he listened. And he remembered.

Alex continued rambling, afraid and alone and lost. Morty talked quietly to him, reassuring him. Alex seemed to relax just a little and Hank stayed alert in his position. If he startled Alex in anyway, he might start throwing destructive power rings and hurt himself or one of the others.

Hank was sort of surprised he hadn't done so already.

"Hey," Morty said again quietly. "It's okay."

Alex shook his head violently.

"No, no, they were just _kids_, they didn't do anything, I didn't save them, I was too late."

Morty hunched in front of Alex, never looking more like a toad than he did now. But his heart, his kindness, his patience was all mutant-human.

"I know. Me neither. I failed them too."

_Hank, I'm here_, Charles spoke into his head.

_Good_, Hank responded. _He's really keyed up. Can you help him? Morty's in here too._

_We'll just have to see. Open the door. Slowly._

And Hank did.

Charles Xavier, his hair mussed and his eyes still shot with sleep, rolled into the room.

Hank saw the others still standing in the hall, full of fear and questions.

He said nothing, only closed the door, figuring 'go back to bed and get some sleep' was the dumbest possible statement of all time. It wasn't every day in Xavier Manor that Alex, the smart aleck pretty boy, experienced a violent, raging psychological break down.

Charles opened the line of communication between himself and Alex and Hank and Morty in what was surely the most unique four way conference call the world would ever entertain.

The air filled with distant screams, and a putrid odor, and murky choking mist. Hank suddenly felt as if he were going to be sick. He swallowed thickly.

And heard Charles' voice in his, _their_, minds.

_Alex, it's not your fault._

_I didn't save them. I should have saved them._

_I know. And I'm sorry. It's not your fault._

_It was the soldiers. I was a soldier. _

_But you weren't there. You didn't do it. It's not your fault._

Little by little, the screams and odor began to slowly fade from Hank's conscious mind. Hank had the notion that it was fading from Morty and Alex's mind as well and he was grateful for them to go on to their peace.

He wondered if Ink heard the screams and smelled the stench in his sleep. And how many more men lay lost and alone and afraid of the terrors locked within their own minds.

Charles continued his soothing, calming mantra.

_It's not your fault._

* * *

Alex found him the next day.

"Hey, Hank."

He seemed a little diminished, his usual confidence subdued. Hank didn't like him that way. As much as the supercilious Alex could be a frustrating handful to deal with, this defeated persona was almost more than Hank could bear.

"Do you feel . . . better today?" he ventured.

Alex nodded, shifting his eyes around, not quite looking at Hank.

"Yeah, I guess. Sometimes I sleep well and sometimes I have . . . bad dreams."

Hank waited.

"Charles said I could talk to him if I wanted to. So, maybe . . ."

Hank tried to think of something to say. It turned out he didn't have to. Alex, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, gestured with the other.

"Look, Hank, I wanted to say . . . thank you."

Hank nodded.

"You're welcome."

Alex shifted some more, shuffling his feet, rubbing at an imaginary stain on the floor with one shoed-toe.

"The war . . ." he seemed to struggle for words.

Hank nodded.

"Yeah."

Alex looked up and for a moment he was just Alex Summers. Not Havoc. Not a smart aleck guy.

Just Alex.

Unsure. Unconfident. Haunted. Lost.

Then he seemed to shake himself slightly. And looked at Hank almost with a grin.

"I guess I'll owe you one the next time you get your panties in a bunch, huh?"

Hank smiled a little, knowing Alex was trying to bounce back the only way he knew how.

"Well, good to know you've got my back then, Ring of Fire."

* * *

**'Soylent Green' is a 1973 movie starring Charlton Heston. Talk about overacting. But I had to try to break the stress of the moment somehow.**

**Thanks to brigid1318 (who says the best stuff!), Aletta-Feather (I liked writing it!), MoonlitShadowsoftheHumanSoul (hope you enjoyed this chapter), I've Been a Labrat (whom I'm confident survived this chapter), Pandiichan (& her compassion for Hank's skills of concentration), and ChiefPam (who is freaking awesome) for reviewing and keeping reading all my words. You all are a stalwart bunch, I must say.**

**Now that we've helped Alex, maybe we can give him a touch of sunshine?**


	16. Waterbugs

I do not own X-Men anything.

You'd think I'd run out of words by now. You'd be wrong.

Reaching Out

Chapter 16: Waterbugs

* * *

Hope had just graduated Salutatorian Spring 1973 of her nursing class (Charles teased Hank she would have easily earned Valedictorian had she not visited Xavier Manor so frequently the past four months) and as a direct result, Charles Xavier decided to throw a pool party.

At first, when Charles had the swimming pool cleaned out and refilled, Hank had taken little notice. He didn't really think much of swimming, not really being much of a waterbug himself. And the Beast never could get his fur dry without it getting all puffy and static-y. Even in his human form, he still felt waterlogged.

But Hope changed his mind. Well, her bathing suit actually.

It was modest, even prudish compared to modern day standards. It was an orange and purple athletically cut one piece.

She was under the water when Hank came out onto the pool patio area, reluctantly wearing blue boardshorts and a white t-shirt. So he was unprepared for her watery introduction.

Her long dark hair was wet, dripping behind her as she climbed the ladder out of the pool and walked towards him.

_Oh . . . my . . ._

Reaching him, Hope smiled sunnily.

"Would you hand me my towel?"

He stared blankly at her, unable to comprehend her words.

"Hank?" she said, questioningly.

"Huh?"

"My towel? It's behind you."

_Towel, towel. A towel is a rectangular piece of absorbent cloth used to dry . . . oh . . ._

"Here," he stammered, reaching for it and handing it over.

Hope took it appreciatively and wrapped it around her torso.

_Aww . . ._

"Thanks," she said, pecking him lightly on the cheek.

As he looked at her, full of sun and fun and happiness, he was suddenly struck by a dark, sobering thought.

_I don't want anyone to hurt her. No Sentinels, no Erik. Nothing._

He drifted away for a few moments, commiserating on the possible future destruction of the world. Would someone eventually restart the Sentinel project? Would the mutant war commence to despite their best efforts?

And how would he protect her if and when that time came?

Either his face reflected his darkening thoughts or Hope read them hanging like a big, heavy banner above his head.

"Hank?"

He looked at her as she tilted her head curiously up at him.

"You cannot _possibly_ be throwing dark, negative waves out at me during such a fun, glorious day like this."

He didn't respond, just glanced back at the horizon. She waited for him to answer and when he didn't, she finally spoke again. Quietly, compassionately.

"Can you see them coming, the Sentinels?" she asked gently.

Hank shook his head.

"No."

"Is there anything you can do about the possibility of it _right_ _now_?"

He thought for a moment before replying.

"Not that I can think of."

Hope put one hand on her hip, the other securing the wrapped towel.

"Well until you have an idea, just _relax_. Don't wait around for death to show up 'cause that's a bummer. Enjoy what we have now. Enjoy _me_."

_Oh, I am. Trust me. Enjoying that bathing suit too. Would you show it to me again? Just a little peek? No? Well, okay. I tried._

Hope let him and his thoughts wander for a moment before continuing.

"And when you _do_ think of something that will help, then _go_ for it, okay?"

He looked closely at her. Studied her lovely, open face, her deep brown eyes. And finally nodded.

"Okay. I love you, Hope."

She smiled and pecked his cheek.

"I love you too, Hank."

Just then Alex arrived next to them. He wore black boardshorts slung low on his hips and his chest was army-muscled.

"You know, I think it's time we _all_ get back in the water," he stated pointedly, looking at Hope.

_Welcome back. Now _that's_ the 'Ring of Fire' I've come to anticipate._

As Hope rolled her eyes, Hank finally had an idea. A devilish idea.

"Okay," he said suddenly.

And using a little of his beast strength, grabbed Alex and unceremoniously tossed him, yelling, into the water. At the last second, Alex snagged Hank's wrist and they both tumbled in with a splash.

As the cold water shocked his system, Hank reflexively morphed into his beast form.

_Ah man, now I'm gonna feel puffy for the rest of the day._

As they surfaced, they saw Peter the Quicksilver Kid had arrived just in time to point and laugh at them. He was wearing a black sleeveless t-shirt and black and silver boardshorts and for once had no goggles or headphones strung around his neck.

Hope stood behind him, laughing as well.

Suddenly, she reached forward and yanked down the boardshorts of the Quicksilver Kid who screamed . . .

"Ahhhhhhhh!"

. . . as Hope ran away laughing even as the red-faced speedster disappeared from sight.

Then Hope flung her towel on the ground and jumped back into the pool, much to Hank's delight.

Charles had been peacefully swimming laps for relaxation and exercise. But now the large pool was suddenly filling up with loud, rambunctious young mutants. So he good-naturedly swam to one end and using his developing arm and chest strength, pulled himself up out of the pool, allowing his useless legs to dangle and float in the water.

He smiled, watching the fighting, arguing swimmers with a sense of hope.

It was hard to imagine any of them being hunted outcasts. At the moment, they just seemed like happy people in the sun.

Chloe appeared and sat down next to him, putting her feet in the water as well. She wore a modest one piece green swimsuit and black mesh shorts.

"Hey, you okay?"

He smiled at her.

"Yes. You know, I really think I am."

She grinned at him and nudged him with her elbow.

"Good. Now watch this."

Morty floated by on an inner tube, his goggled face tilted up, basking in the sun and water. Chloe twirled her finger a little and the inner tube began spinning slowly.

Morty didn't notice.

Chloe twirled her finger again and the tube spun faster.

The reposing youth raised his head, looking around at his revolving environment, confused. Chloe repressed a snicker and the inner tube began spinning like a whirling dervish while Morty gripped the slippery inner tube in surprise.

Suddenly, he flipped over the side and into the drink with an alarmed croak.

Charles burst out laughing and Chloe cheered, throwing her hands up in an 'it's good' football gesture.

Morty resurfaced several feet away from the now complacent inner tube. Which was inexplicably occupied by a grinning Ink who had scrambled into it so fast he might as well have been Peter the Quicksilver Kid. Chloe slid into the water, abandoning Charles with a wink, and swam toward the tattooed young man in the inner tube.

He noticed her, smiled, and tried not to turn red. She floated alongside him, holding his ankle for support as he attempted not to look uncomfortable with the contact. They chatted quietly while floating along on the currents of the tussling Alex and the now returned Peter.

Hank, now returned to human form, and Hope had floated along to the side and were chatting quietly and enjoying each other's company as well as the entertaining behavior of the other swimmers.

_This could get very interesting, _Charles mused thoughtfully._ Hormone-driven young people living in a big house together. Good thing there are no cameras around. Maybe there should be._

"Burgers are ready," Max called.

Charles turned and saw the quilled man, holding a spatula and wearing an apron that read 'I Always Look This Good'. It had been specially made for him by Chloe to boast his self-confidence. The effort was clearly working because he wore a smile on his dark face that made Charles think he actually might be happy.

Charles opened his mouth to call out to the water rats but Peter beat him to it.

"_FOOD_!"

And appeared dripping wet from the middle of the pool directly next to Max in the blink of an eye.

"So, what're we waiting for?"

Max gestured out at the water.

"Everybody else."

Peter shrugged.

"Meh. They're slow; I'm fast. Gimme food."

Max shook his head.

"Nope."

Peter pouted.

"Aww . . ."

Meanwhile, Charles was lifting himself into his towel-covered wheelchair. Nobody moved to aid him as it displeased him to offered assistance with anything he could do for himself. As far as Hank was concerned, after ten years of self-pitying helplessness and playing the victim card, it was a welcome change.

When everyone was gathered before the waiting food, Charles insisted they toast to happiness, optimism, and Hope's well-earned collegiate achievement.

_Hey, he's saying something beautiful and righteous for a change_, Hank thought, smiling at Hope.

_Positive waves, baby_, she thought right back at him.

As cheesy as it was, they all gladly clinked their cola bottles together and drank to it.

And then the famished mutants descended upon the burgers made by the quietly proud, quilled Max. As hungry lions descend upon fallen gazelles. The perfectly cooked meat was juicy and delicious in sesame-seeded buns. Chips and potato salad accompanied served as the refreshing side dishes.

"Oh . . . my . . . _gosh_!" Chloe moaned in delight. "These are _so_ awesome, Max! Thank you!"

Though Hank wholeheartedly agreed with the sentiment, he couldn't miss the way Ink's eyes flicked toward Chloe as she throatily expressed her appreciation of the food.

_Yeah, bathing suits and burgers, I know. These women are killing us, man._

* * *

**Tons of movies with the pretty girl exiting the pool. So Hank got his.**

**Can't you just see Hank all wet and sopping like the Beast in the Disney movie? Hee hee.**

**Uh huh, Charles just mused on MTV's 'The Real World'. Only with mutants.**

**Yep, still referencing Oddball with the positive waves. 'Cause everybody needs 'em.**

**Thanks to brigid1318 (& her little panthers), the encouraging Shanynde , MoonlitShadowsoftheHumanSoul (who's going to be my manager for Hollywood), Aletta-Feather (who understands that not everything has to be romantized), ChiefPam (I told Max to save a big, juicy burger for Michael; he said he would), and I've Been a Labrat (perpetual squinter & virtual vinegar brandisher) for surviving the last chapter. Maybe this one healed you all up a little.**

**Thanks as well to the silent readers out there. Hope you're enjoying this tale too. :)**

**You know, sometimes you just gotta fight for what's right . . .**


	17. Just a Movie

I do not own X-Men anything.

You'd think I'd run out of words by now. You'd be wrong.

Reaching Out

Chapter 17: Just a Movie

* * *

Chloe the telekinetic pancake girl had suddenly and adamantly made her declaration to the calm and patient Professor Charles Xavier. She did not want to be a student or an X-Man in training or a mutant or anything of that nature. Not for a while.

"I want to be a teenager tonight. I just want to go to the movies and be a _teenager_. Besides, we need to celebrate Max and Morty getting their GEDs."

Apparently possessing super hearing along with his super speed, Peter appeared next to her. Clad as always in silver and black, he removed his headphones from his ears, an impish grin on his face.

"Hey, I'll take some of that action. I'm in."

Chloe put her hands on her hips, tilted her head at his assumptive nature, and calmly debunked his self-invitation.

"I haven't _invited_ you yet."

Peter folded his arms across his chest and arched an eyebrow. He was still grinning, probably because he suspected he could annoy her into letting him do what he wanted.

"So I _can't_ come?"

Chloe sighed, rolling her green eyes, like a long-suffering sister dealing with a nagging brother.

"Yes, you can come. But only if you go get Ink to come with us. And everybody else."

Peter, his unique silver hair tickling her face, pecked her on the cheek, much to her aggravation.

"Deal."

And then he was gone.

* * *

There were six of them in all. Ink, Peter, Chloe, Alex, Hank, and Hope.

Morty and Max were firmly ensconced in a Star Trek episode and could only be bothered to grin and wave them on.

Charles graciously bowed out, insisting that a quiet evening alone was just what he had been hoping for. Though he did pull Hank aside quietly before they left.

"Please see if you can keep them in check, would you? We don't want them to make a scene or draw unnecessary attention to themselves."

Hank shrugged.

"I'll try. You could just refuse to let them go entirely if you're that concerned."

Charles shook his head resolutely.

"No. They must be allowed to make their own decisions and choices. We also do not want to teach them to hide out and be ashamed of what they are. We want them to feel as though they have a place in the world as well."

Hank nodded.

"Okay. Would you like to come?"

Charles edged a knowing smile.

"Not in the least, Hank."

_Well, thanks so much for allowing _me_ to do it then, Charles. But at least I have Hope._

And so off they went.

* * *

That evening, they ordered burgers and fries and cokes at a local food joint and sat around a big table together, eating and talking, laughing and joking around. They all agreed it felt good to get out of the manor and do something completely normal for a change. They frequently left the estate to run errands, visit relatives, or just get away sometimes.

But this, this was different. This was a _celebration_.

The food was good though everyone agreed that the burgers were not quite as deliciously perfect as the ones Max had made. Hope made a mental note to relay that information to him when they returned home. She knew it would put a smile on his face even as his quills rippled happily.

Most patrons of the little eatery chose to ignore Ink's unique appearance but a few openly stared. Chloe stayed close to him, keeping up a comfortable chatter to entertain and distract him.

He seemed to content enough to let her.

* * *

After sharing a couple of sundaes, they left the restaurant, walking in the direction of the movie theater, located a few blocks away. Chatting amicably as they strolled, the group of young mutants did not notice two big guys leaned up against the side of a building until they'd nearly passed them. Both guys were dressed in jeans, white wife beater t shirts and sneakers. They both were heavily muscled and proud of it. Both sported crew cuts, one blond and the other red.

One of the hulks paused in his smoke break to gawk and sneer.

"Hey, freak, what's with your face? What're you? Radioactive?"

Peaceful Ink ducked his head and began to pick up his walking pace. Alex stopped, opening his mouth to retort, but Chloe had stopped also and she beat him to it.

"Who're you hollering at, _idiot_?"

The entire group stopped and watched. Along with several random bystanders.

The loudmouth, his dark eyes cruel, stepped forward with a leer.

"Ah, don't get offended, baby. Leave that freak alone and let me show you what a _real_ man is like."

Hank felt the beast growl and at his side, Hope tensed. Peter stood ready for flight or fight. Ink looked embarrassed and angry. Alex narrowed his eyes and glared.

Chloe threw the loudmouth a deathly stare with her cold, green, snake eyes.

"This '_freak'_ is _awesome_ and more of a _man_ than you could _ever_ be, you posturing _loser_!"

The 'posturing loser' stepped forward, glaring.

"Back off, little girl or . . ."

Chloe smirked wickedly, hands on her hips.

"Or what? You'll cry to your momma?"

His hard face darkened further.

"I'm gonna give you . . ."

But Chloe, full of fire and righteous anger, interrupted.

"No, baby,_ I_ got something to give _you_."

And using her telekinesis, she quickly pulled ketchup and mustard bottles off the nearby hot dog vendor's cart and sprayed the guy in the face and all over his clothes. Simultaneously, she leaped forward and kicked him hard right in his sensitives with a vicious yell.

Then she turned and ran for it, grabbing Ink's hand as she passed him.

The now condiment slathered man, turning a sick color, collapsed to the ground as his buddy roared, lunging for Chloe.

_Not my pancake girl_, Hank thought.

And he reflexively slugged him with all his human strength right in the face. The guy went down on his back next to his friend.

"Run!" Peter yelled.

And then Hope, activating her mutant sticky fingers, was pulling on Hank's other hand, dragging him along.

"Come on!" she called and he followed her lead at a brisk run.

'_Not make a scene'. Sorry Charles. But they're teenagers._

_Growl._

_I know, Beast. But I _feel_ like a teenager right now. At least I think so._

Then he noticed Peter next to Alex, running at human speed with a big grin on his silver haired framed face.

"Not zipping off, Speedster?" Alex quipped, laughing.

Peter grinned at him.

"Naw, this is a _gang_ thing, man. You don't abandon the gang during a _rumble_," he retorted cheekily and Alex laughed again.

Chloe sprinted along in the lead, a firm grip on Ink's hand. She was laughing out loud as was Hope.

_This is utterly juvenile_, Hank thought.

But he found himself grinning and chuckling anyway as they ran on.

They sprinted the block, dodging slower-moving pedestrians, turned a corner, and ran until an alleyway appeared on their left. Throwing on the brakes, Chloe dodged in and the rest loyally followed her lead. Then they stopped, leaning against walls and panting (except for Peter who had disappeared). Glancing back into the street, they saw no pursuer in sight.

"Whew," Hope said. "That was . . ."

"Fun!" Peter finished for her, reappearing at her side. "He's down the other block, throwing up. The other dude's, like, knocked stupid. So we're good."

Alex feinted disappointment to Peter.

"So you just let her take them on all by herself, Speedster?"

Peter rolled his eyes.

"Are you _kidding_? I'm not getting in her way. She'll _cream _me, man."

Then they turned to the sound of Chloe, the crazy pancake girl, ranting in victory. Her grinning face was flushed and bright. In her green t-shirt, jean shorts, and worn sneakers, she looked like a pixie haired, green eyed, petite warrior princess. She was practically bouncing on her toes.

"Oh, man, did you _see_ his face?! That was hilarious! He deserved it, ah man, he was such a di . . ."

Suddenly, shy Ink unexpectedly stepped forward without a word. Taking Chloe's face gently and swiftly in his hands, he met her lips with his in a sweet, lingering kiss. She froze for a split second, then her hands grasped his sides, holding tightly.

_There goes my pancake girl_, Hank thought.

Hank and Hope's eyebrows migrated upward in surprise even as Alex openly gaped and Peter spoke, sound relieved.

"Uh, _finally_. I thought he'd _never_ do it. So _slow_."

Then all they turned their backs in unison, self-consciously looking at each other.

"So . . . movie posters?" Hope suggested lightly.

Hank nodded.

"Yep."

* * *

Ink and Chloe stepped out of the alleyway a few moments later, hand in hand and blushing. They joined their four friends, who were studiously examining the movie posters with utmost concentration.

Hope tilted her head toward Hank, whispering discreetly.

"Now we need to find a girl for Peter."

Peter blipped between Hank and Hope instantly.

"I heard that. Who you thinking of? You got a pretty friend? Who is she? Is it Raquel Welch?"

Hank chuckled to himself.

_Who'd be able to keep up with him?_

"What about me?" Alex asked, sounding miffed.

Peter made a face at him.

"Naw, you're not my type. You're a _guy_, man."

Alex glared at him in irritation and disgust.

"That's not what I _meant_. I wasn't talking to _you_."

Peter nodded casually, innocence painted all over his face.

"Oh, sure, sure. You say that now that I've _rejected_ you . . ."

And Peter was off. And Alex with him, arguing the entire way. Or as much as anyone could successfully argue with the verbal steamroller that could be Peter Maximoff.

Hope leaned back over to Hank.

"Never mind, they're good. They've got each other," she quipped.

He grinned and squeezed her hand as the Quicksilver Kid paused in his rambling to address them.

"Still heard that."

* * *

The six young mutants sat together in a row, watching 'Young Frankenstein'. An interesting film to say the least.

At one point, Hope leaned over Hank, who had his tender knuckles topped with ice, and whispered to Chloe that Alex and Peter argued like Fredrick and Igor. Chloe responded by laughing and accidently snorting coca cola out of her nose.

And Ink went and got napkins for her.

So all in all, it was a rather eventful evening.

* * *

**Oh, come on, that was fun. Stupid, perhaps, but stupid **_**fun**_**.**

**Raquel Welch used to be the epitome of a beautiful woman in the '60s & '70s. Look it up if you don't believe me.**

**Besides, 'Young Frankenstein' is hilarious! I'd throw my favorite quote in here but I'd have to script out the entire movie. haha. So just give me yours, yeah?**

**Sending out positive waves to Shanynde and your big move to Arizona. Hope you enjoy! :D I enjoyed my travels there in the past. That being said, permanently take away my grass and trees and I will freak right out. ha!**

**As always, most grateful thanks to MoonlitShadowsoftheHumanSoul, Pandiichan, Shanynde, I've Been a Labrat, X . Kuchisake - Onna . X, Aletta-Feather, and brigid1318 for reading and reviewing all these chapters. Hope you're still having fun 'cause I sure am.**

**Thanks also to Tumblingintowonderland for adding your support to this story. **

**Well, well, well. Looks like there might be some changes around Xavier Manor . . .**


	18. Life Changing Considerations

I do not own X-Men anything.

You'd think I'd run out of words by now. You'd be wrong.

Reaching Out

Chapter 18: Life Changing Considerations

* * *

Hope had more or less moved into Xavier Manor just after graduation. She'd even procured gainful employment.

A few days after the infamous movie incursion, Ink had accidently crashed into the basketball court, cutting his knee quite badly. His friends had more or less dragged him to the med station before fleeing Hope's concerned, mother-hen glare. Hope had cleaned out the wound, stitched, and bandaged him up nice and neat. Then she had gripped his chin firmly in her mutant sticky fingers and eyeballing him, sternly grounded him from power diving Morty and Max for three whole weeks.

Then she had taken up a ballpoint pen and clearly marked the med room's wall calendar for three weeks from the current date: _Ink Can Play_.

He had reluctantly agreed and limped off to watch tv with Chloe. And Hank, present for both the stitching and grounding but not the kamikaze flight, had instinctively proposed. Sort of.

"You should just stay here and move in. You already have your own room and you know Peter is eventually going break something."

She'd smiled at him mischievously.

"So . . . is that the _only_ reason you want me to stay? Convenience?"

Hank had shrugged, feeling a bit mischievous himself after watching her skillfuly perform her triage on Ink without so much as a flinch.

_Man, that was so hot._

"Well, yes, actually."

She squinted her brown eyes at him, trying to figure out his inner machinations.

"Uh huh?" she queried.

He shrugged again.

"It's _very_ convenient for me to be around your positive waves if you're here every day. Plus, I can do _this_."

He swept her up into his arms suddenly, kissing her neck, making her giggle.

"Hank! Stop! Put me down!" Hope squealed with delight.

"Yes, Hank, put her down, please," Charles Xavier requested from behind them.

_Go away, Wheels. I got something going on here._

Hank reluctantly set her on her feet, but kept an arm around her. She didn't seem to mind in the least.

"Yes, _Chuck_, what can I do for you? Boo-boo? Head injury, perhaps? _Must_ be a head injury since you interrupted me while I was _busy_."

Despite her use of the moniker 'Chuck' and the curtness of her words, Hope's eyes held a teasing gleam as she addressed the master of the house.

_Of course,_ Hank mused, _that gleam might just have a little something to do with me. A fair assumption._

Charles smiled fondly at her as he continued speaking.

"Hank is quite right, frankly. We do need someone around here to care of our students who are undoubtedly going to get hurt using their powers from time to time. Incidences like Ink's, for example, require a skilled, patient nurse, and according to your hard earned degree, you just happen to be one."

Hope arched her eyebrows in amusement at his high-brow speech. She was about to unleash a teasing quip when he spoke again, tugging at her heartstrings.

"Your warm, invigorating presence brightens up our lives more than I can tell you. All of our lives," he stated, pointedly glancing at Hank. "And we all here benefit from your encouragement so very much."

Hope tilted her head fondly at the man in the chair.

"I don't think that would work on a job application, Charles."

He shrugged and nodded in agreement.

"That doesn't make it any less true or important," he stated sincerely.

The three of them were quiet for a moment. Finally, Professor X spoke again.

"So will you stay? Please?"

Hope took a deep breath.

"Sure," she said amicably, placing a hand jauntily on her hip. "Under one condition."

Charles nodded for her to continue, eager to hear what was no doubt going to be a brilliant statement. And it was.

"That the next time my boyfriend is kissing me, you don't _interrupt_ him."

Charles and Hank both grinned broadly at her aplomb.

"Fair enough," Charles complied happily.

And they sealed the deal with a handshake. And a Hope hug.

Then Charles pasted a serious expression on his face.

"Now since you are in fact an _employee_ of this institution, miss, please stop pawing our resident scientist and get back to _work_."

Hope scrunched up her face at him.

"Well, find me somebody all injured, cut and bleeding, arm dangling off, whatever, and I'll fix 'em right up!"

The three of them laughed then and Charles allowed himself to be shooed away.

"And here I was worried about job interviews," Hope said, turning to Hank.

"I wasn't," he said. "You're amazing."

And kissed her again.

She let him.

* * *

Hank later found Charles in his study and, arms crossed, reprimanded him.

"You know, it's not fair that you proposed to her first. She is _my_ girlfriend, Charles."

The two men refrained from smiling at each other, both holding to their chosen character.

"Well, _Henry_, perhaps you should not have waited so long. There are any number of lads in this house ready to propose all sorts of arrangements."

Hank pretended to growl.

"Don't overstep your bounds, Charles. The next thing I know, you'll be offering to roll her around the house."

Charles looked innocent.

"And who says I haven't already? You do spent an awful lot of time in your lab. And I have been working out more frequently. Building muscles and such."

Finally, Hank broke into a small smile.

"Thank you, Charles."

"You're welcome, Hank. Thank you for bringing her into our lives. She is indeed a ray of sunshine to us all."

Hank nodded.

"I know."

Suddenly Charles snapped his fingers.

"Oh, I almost forgot to ask. How was the movie excursion the other day?"

Hank kept his face smooth.

_It was awesome._

"Oh, fine. It was fine. Just fine."

Charles nodded.

"Anything of interest?"

_Yeah, I punched out a big jerk and Peter rejected Alex._

"No, no."

Charles seemed to know he was hiding something.

_Let's see. Who's got the biggest mouth in the house.? Ah, yes, Peter. . ._

* * *

Hope was patient. She didn't want to rush her life. Or his.

But she did desire a few answers. Well, just one specific one.

"How long are we going to be together, Hank?"

_Is this a trick question? _

He looked at her curiously. She didn't seem to be joking. She seemed to be sincere.

"As long as you want me."

It was the most honest answer he could think to give her.

She stared directly at him.

"I want you forever."

_Is this a real conversation? Is she really talking to _me_? I never thought anyone would ever say these things to _me_._

"Okay."

She watched him carefully. He pretended he didn't notice.

_Thank you for being so succinct, my love. I know that I can really see the answer in your fantastic blue eyes, but I'd really like to _hear_ you say it._

"Hank?"

He looked up again.

"What do _you_ want?"

He shrugged.

"I love you, Hope. I just want to be with you. Forever."

And she smiled, satisfied.

"Good."

_Got that out of the way then, my dear. You may go back to your scientific work then._

And Hope opened her book and continued to read.

It was a good one.

And Hank, well, Hank needed someone to talk to.

* * *

"Charles, I need to talk to you. It's important. It's . . . something . . . personal."

Charles put down the document he was perusing, his expression mildly curious.

"Well, close the door and make yourself at home, Hank. What can I do for you?"

Hank wondered if this was about to be the most embarrassing conversation he'd ever endured. He suspected it was. But he needed confirmation. And Charles was the only one he could even imagine speaking with.

"Well, I wanted to know . . ."

His voice trailed off. He spied a decanter of some alcoholic beverage on a trolley in the corner of the room. He thought he might have to get drunk to carry on this conversation.

" . . . do you know . . ."

The man in the wheelchair looked at him, waiting expectantly. As Hank clenched up and turned a deep shade of red, his friend finally took pity on him and spoke.

"Hank, please. Relax and talk to me. I'm your friend."

Hank managed to complete his painful first sentence.

" . . . do mutants ever . . . marry?"

Charles seemed to consider the question seriously.

"Well, I don't see any reason why not. We are caring life forms like any other. Humans do, of course. There are also several species in the animal kingdom that actually mate for life. Swans, French angelfish, prairie voles, turtle doves, bald eagles . . . "

Realizing he had begun to lecture, Charles stopped and looked at Hank.

"I think the real question is: do you and Hope _want_ to marry?"

Hank shrugged.

"I think she does. I know her parents have been married for twenty-eight years."

Charles considered this.

"And what do _you_ want, Hank?"

That answer was easy.

"I love her. I just want to be with her."

Charles nodded encouragingly. Hank continued, trying valiantly (and failing) to hide his escalating embarrassment.

"I think she would feel more comfortable with . . . continuing our relationship if we were married."

Hank tried to stay relaxed and prayed Charles wouldn't mock him.

He needn't have worried. Charles cared for his friend and kindly refrained from any snide comments, considering the level of Hank's sensitivity regarding the current subject. Plus, he really kind of owed him.

"So you two haven't . . ."

Hank shook his head, trying desperately to maintain his dignity.

"No, she . . . and I haven't wanted to pressure . . . um, make her feel . . ."

He trailed off, suddenly completely overwhelmed by his inexperience and frustrated with his discomfiture.

Charles continued, gently finishing the thought for him.

"And you don't want her to feel cheapened by your desire. You want her to understand that your feelings are deeper than just a carnal petition. Am I correct?"

Hank nodded, feeling relieved that Charles understood and could intelligently put into words what he struggled to say aloud.

"Well, Hank, I must admit . . ."

Hank refused to allow himself to fidget uncomfortably in his chair.

". . . I am impressed. You have earned my admiration more than I can tell you."

Hank blinked in surprise.

"Really?"

Charles nodded, his face earnest and sincere.

"You are treating the woman you love with more respect and consideration than I have treated women in the past. You are most definitely a better man than I have proven to be."

Hank smiled hesitantly after a moment, realizing Charles wasn't mocking him.

Charles continued.

"And if that is the way you both feel, then I think you're doing the right thing. You should do whatever makes you both feel most confident and comfortable in your relationship."

Charles paused. Hank waited.

"Of course, if that is the _only_ reason to get married, then that is an entirely different matter altogether. Things do . . . change after a while together, I'm told."

Hank thought about it.

"No," he said. "I think marriage is about staying together and taking care of each other. Along with everything else. And that's what I want with Hope."

Charles rolled his wheelchair over to his friend. He reached out and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Well, it sounds like you've got everything already worked out in your head. Now you just have to find out what she wants. And then the two of you can decide together."

Hank considered this.

"Thank you, Charles. And thank you for your . . . discretion."

Charles smiled.

"Of course, my friend. Now, don't you have some things to _attend_ to?"

Hank grinned.

"Yeah, I guess so."

Hank stood up and headed to the door.

"And Hank?"

Hank stopped and looked back.

Charles smiled.

"Sweep her off her feet."

Hank grinned.

"Okay."

And then, for some reason, he could not explain, Hank didn't. He didn't say a word to Hope about it. And he couldn't really explain why. Although later, it all would become very clear.

* * *

**I know, I know. In this day and age (or that one for that matter), Hope and Hank's decision is uncommon. But that doesn't make it impossible. In fact, my husband and I made the same decision. It wasn't easy. You know, regular humans and hormones and all that. But with a lot of apartment painting and _LOADS_ of rollerblading (back when that was cool), we did wait it out. And we've always been glad of that decision. So, that's my speech anyway.**

**Thanks to brigid1318, Pandiichan, I've Been a Labrat, MoonlitShadowsoftheHumanSoul , X . Kuchisake - Onna . X, and Pazithia . Gallifreya for your loyal reviews! :D**

**Thanks to cavco for adding your support to this story.**

**What's that I hear? A knock at the door of the manor? Let's go see who it is, shall we?**


	19. The Unexpected

I do not own X-Men anything.

You'd think I'd run out of words by now. You'd be wrong.

Reaching Out

Chapter 19: The Unexpected

* * *

They were in the game room, nearly all of them, adamantly engaged in a roiling billiards competition between Charles and Hope. Hope, currently leaning nonchalantly on her billiards cue, had her long, dark hair caught up in a ponytail, the better to see how to annihilate one Professor Charles Xavier.

Much to the glee of everyone present that afternoon.

Including the man himself.

Max, Morty, and Ink watched closely, exchanging bets for junk food, sodas, and house holding cleaning obligations. Chloe nearby taking copious mental notes from Hope, whom she completely adored. Hank sat on a stool with his arms crossed, waiting patiently if albeit somewhat eagerly for Hope to smash Charles into oblivion. Charles, carefully perched on the edge of the table, lining up a trick shot to wow the attendees and tilt the game in his favor.

Peter had mysteriously disappeared moments before and now as he reappeared they studiously ignored him in favor of the game.

Until he spoke.

"There's a hot woman at the front door."

Alex grinned mischievously.

"Sounds like you got this covered, man."

Peter didn't smile or acknowledge Alex's statement. He seemed oddly serious, a true rare event.

"Prof? She's blue and scaly."

Charles' shot went haywire and his intended side pocket solid flew above the table, junking an unprepared Max before he could dodge. To the surprised laughter of Morty and Ink.

Charles did not notice, focused as he was on Peter Maximoff. Who, for once, did not seem to be joking around.

Hope glanced at Hank who appeared to be flash frozen with an unreadable expression on his handsome face.

"Pardon, _what_ did you say?"

Peter reappeared right before Charles and lowered his voice to a barely audible whisper.

"It's that chick from Paris and the White House feed."

Charles' billiards cue fell clattering to the floor.

* * *

"Raven!"

Her yellow eyes flared at his use of the name she no longer answered to for just a moment before she appear to relent a little.

"Charles."

His excitement was evident though he gamely tried to appear reticent and calm. A little regretful twinge of suspicion mixed in there as well.

Suddenly the blue woman sighed.

"I can feel you in my head, Charles. Get out. I don't know where Erik is. We're not together now."

Unabashed, Charles withdrew from her walled thoughts.

"I am sorry, Raven. But it's just more than me now. We have children to protect here and well, I don't know his intentions any longer."

She nodded.

"That why I've come actually. The children."

They locked eyes for a long span of time, he looking up from his seated position and her from her stance in the doorway.

Finally, the scaled woman spoke somewhat sadly, formally.

"May we please come in, Charles?"

He seemed to recover himself and nodded.

_We?_

"Yes, please."

Raven spoke to someone out of his line of vision.

"Come on. This is a safe place. It's okay."

A short, thin teenage girl with curly, dirty-blond hair stepped slowly into the foyer. She wore tattered, stained clothing and her dirty-blond hair was curly and tangled.

Charles glanced into her thoughts.

_. . . don't see me, don't look at me, don't talk to me, i'm warning you . . ._

And ducked back out quickly to avoid making her any more paranoid than she already appeared to be.

She did not look directly at him, rather furtively around his general air space. He caught a few glimpses of her eyes. At first, he thought they were green. Then he thought they were blue. Then he decided they were hazel when she cast a defiant glare at him as he obviously threatened her with his scrutiny.

Without his doing, the wheelchair rolled backward a few inches before he stopped it. A clear warning. Back off.

_Well, this may be a fun one. Raven, who did you bring me? And what's wrong with her?_

_Be nice, Charles. She's had rough time of it. Something you wouldn't understand._

_Raven . . ._

_Mystique._

_Please, I don't want to fight. I want peace._

_I know._

"It's why I'm here," she finished aloud.

Charles nodded and moved his hand in a welcoming gesture.

The woman he had once known as Raven, looked up at something above her head.

"Come on, you too."

Apparently whoever she was talking to hesitated or silently refused because she held out her arms to it.

"Come on now," she said, not unkindly.

A dark blue figure suddenly appeared in her arms, its arms, legs, and blue pointed tail wrapped around her, face averted and buried in her neck.

Along with the abrupt appearance came a faint whiff of brimstone that quickly dissipated.

"Good boy," she murmured, stroking the child's jet-black hair gently.

Charles did not question her, simply rolled backward to give her and her tiny charge space. He escorted the three of them into his study.

Hank, Hope, Chloe, Peter, Alex, Morty, Max, and Ink watched silently from a distance.

Alex and Hank exchanged glances. Hope's jaw clenched. She had suspected this day would come eventually.

She just didn't know it was going to be today.

* * *

The taciturn teenage girl sat herself on the floor before the chess board and began silently playing against herself. The pieces moved. She never did.

"Oh, another telekinetic! Brilliant! We already have one. They should get along nicely."

_I doubt that. She doesn't much connect with people._

"Her name is Kathleen," Charles' mutant sister said aloud. "Kathleen Smith."

Charles raised an eyebrow slightly.

_Smith? Really? _

_I don't know what to tell you, Charles. She said 'Smith'._

He shrugged.

_Fair enough._

"So how are you? Where have you been?"

She smiled enigmatically and he knew she wouldn't answer most or any of his questions. Instead she answered one he had not thought to ask.

"I've been pretty busy since pulling that Logan Wolverine guy out of the Potomac for you."

Charles blinked, surprised.

"You did?"

She nodded coolly.

"Yes. One of Erik's Sentinels threw him in and he almost drowned with metal stuck all through him."

Charles repressed a shudder.

_How long would it take a man with regenerative powers to drown?_ he thought without projecting it.

"How is he?"

She shrugged one shoulder, still holding the silent, blue boy, his head laid against her other shoulder.

"Gone. Up and left as soon as he stopped choking on his own water-filled lungs."

Charles gave her a knowing look.

"You let him go."

She nodded.

"He's not really a team player and it would have been more trouble to try to keep him under control."

Charles smiled a little.

"Well, thank you for saving him."

A beat of silence.

"And who is this young man?" Charles asked sociably, taking a different approach

The woman he'd once thought he knew so well looked directly at him, the aforementioned child still wrapped tightly around her.

"This is Kurt," she said softly, rubbing the back of the little blue child clad in loose black clothing. "My son."

* * *

It was a large manor. Of that there was no doubt. However, it was not so big that they could avoid each other forever.

Though he would have been quite happy to have made a go of it.

As it was, they came upon her suddenly poolside that very afternoon.

Hank and his Hope. And the woman whose DNA had forever changed his.

"Hello, Hank."

He kept his face blank.

"Hi."

She smiled, though there was little warmth in it.

"I see you're still hiding."

He couldn't think of a single retort. Hope, however, could always be counted on.

"What do you mean 'hiding'?"

Mystique glanced irritably at her as if the younger woman were an annoying, buzzing insect.

"He's still hiding his true form. He always has."

She turned to Hank again.

"Or does she not know?"

Hope wasted no time.

'Oh, I know about him. And I know about you too."

Mystique pulled her penetrating gaze back to Hope, who stubbornly held her ground.

"Who are you again?"

Hope remained calm and composed next to her Hank.

"I'm Hope. Hank's girlfriend."

The blue, scaly woman arched an eyebrow dubiously.

"Ah."

Hope continued, her voice tensing a harsh edge.

"And he's not 'hiding' anything. This is just another part of who he _chooses_ to be. Like you _choose_ to change your form."

Mystique glared openly at her.

"Not that it's any of _your_ business, but I _choose_ to change form because it's my _ability_. He _chooses_ to take _drugs_ to change form because he's _ashamed_."

Hank knew he needed to speak up for himself but there seemed to be no air in his lungs with which to draw the needed breath to do so.

As it turned out, Hope didn't need his help. She was doing just fine on her own.

"Well, since it's summer and a hundred and ten degrees in the _shade_, I'd say he's taking human form to avoid melting in the _heat_."

The blue woman glared at her. Then smiled wickedly.

"Oh well, maybe I should do the same."

Then she rippled into the blond form Hank had dreamt of for so long alone. Except this version was wearing a very revealing white bun-floss bikini.

"Is that better?" she smiled suggestively.

Hope's red hot glare could have melted a polar ice cap.

"You're a vicious, ugly bully! What is _wrong_ with you?!"

Raven opened her mouth.

"I don't think you should talking for him. He can fight his own battles."

Hope felt herself losing control.

"He did! He fought to save you from Erik and you didn't thank him or even acknowledge his presence!'

The two fiery women stared at each other for a long minute while Hank wished for a tornado, typhoon, monsoon, earthquake, or random meteoroid to crash and interrupt this confrontation.

Then Raven slowly, coolly turned to Hank.

"Hank, thank you for stopping Erik from shooting me. Again. Even though it was _you_ who brought him to me in the _first_ place."

She turned back to the girl who was very nearly trembling with rage.

"There. Better?" she asked sarcastically.

Hope glared at her.

_Why? Why does she have to be so beautiful? And strong? And amazing? We could be great friends if she wasn't such a b-_

Suddenly with incredible timing and aplomb, Peter Maximoff appeared at Raven's side, openly admiring her bunfloss bikini.

"Well, _hello_! Finally somebody with assets!"

Raven turned to him, fire burning in her eyes.

"And who are _you_?"

Peter grinned impishly.

"Oh, I'm Peter. And I'm quick. Quick enough to untie that bunfloss before you can blink."

Mystique glared at him. Then rippled back into her blue form.

"How quick exactly?"

Peter's mouth dropped open about a foot.

"That is an _awesome_ trick! Do it again!"

Mystique rippled into a perfect replica of Peter himself. To which his mouth practically unhinged.

"So exactly how fast are you?" Raven questioned again, her yellow eyes predatory.

Peter whipped behind her.

"What else can you do?"

Every time she moved to look at him, he zipped to a different spot.

"Huh? What else? Huh? What else? Huh? What else?"

Finally, he stopped in front of her, grinning that same impish grin.

Without warning, she clipped him hard enough in the throat to collapse him to the ground, relatively unharmed, but gasping for air.

Hank and Hope had disappeared. Raven walked away as well.

As she went, she called back over her shoulder.

"Not bad, _Quicksilver_. Of course, not quite as good as you'd like to think either."

He clutched his throat, trying to breathe.

_I think I'm in love_.

* * *

**You know how there's always that one family member that shows up to the reunion starting stuff? Yep.**

**Thanks to Aletta-Feather, I've Been a Labrat, X . Kuchisake - Onna. X, MoonlitShadowsoftheHumanSoul, Pandiichan, and brigid1318 for continuing on this journey with me.**

**But let's delve a little deeper, shall we?**


	20. Emotional Struggle & Difficult Decisions

I do not own X-Men anything.

You'd think I'd run out of words by now. You'd be wrong.

Reaching Out

Chapter 20: Emotional Struggles and Difficult Decisions

* * *

The shape shifting mutant, once Raven, now Mystique, sometimes something else altogether, walked alone.

Regardless of what people believed about her, she did have emotions, thoughts, feelings.

And right now, they were tied up in knots and roiling beneath her scaly, blue façade.

It was being here that did it.

This house.

Charles.

Hank.

That girl.

That girl who had not been through everything she had with him.

Yet still felt she had some ground to voice her opinion.

Her opinion that the woman in blue scales had absolutely no use for whatsoever.

Hank.

She hadn't really meant to attack him on sight. It had just happened, instinctively.

She wanted him to be happy.

But did she have to _see_ it?

Him, hiding away his abilities and gifts.

All to look _human_.

And her.

That girl.

She must be mutant. But yet she paraded about as though she were just a normal human.

They all huddled here.

Like scared, irresponsible, helpless babies.

While she went _out there, _into the world, friendless and alone, while they stayed and played pretend.

And Charles.

Stuck in that wheelchair.

Stuck in his own principals.

Principals that had failed them all so many times.

And yet they all still all revered him so.

And this not-so-humble abode.

It was a life of luxury, of that there could be no doubt.

She had, after all, been the first to grow up here after being adopted by Charles as his sister.

She had felt safe here.

Until her life had so drastically changed.

And she found she could no longer stand the comfort, the safety, the security of its walls.

Because she was meant to be a fighter, not a peacemaker.

So if she despised it all so much, why had she brought them here?

The withdrawn girl, she knew. She seemed too helpless, too angry to be of use just now. Just the kind of little lost soul perfect for Charles' bleeding heart campaign.

And Kurt, little Kurt, her son.

The nuns had done their best by him, but he had begun to wither, to wilt, to fade away. He needed more lively, more engaging interaction.

As much she hated to admit it, he needed Xavier Manor with its lighter, freer atmosphere and futile hopes.

Because one day, he would be a fighter.

But for now he was only a boy.

Such a little boy.

And despite her coarse outlook, her harsh demeanor, she loved her son.

And it was that love for her son and knowing her life was not conducive to his mental and physical wellbeing, that drove her to bring him here to Xavier Manor.

And there was of course, her other goal.

Because with this blue-skinned, scaly, deceptive mutant, there was always more than one objective.

* * *

Hank had actually turned and walked away from the blue woman before Hope had. So she had to run to catch up with him. Then they walked silently, side by side.

She had no idea where they were going.

Hank headed to the woods. He wasn't sure why.

When he finally stopped, he sat down on a fallen log and stared out past everything. She sat down next to him quietly. He didn't say anything. She didn't know what he was seeing and she didn't ask.

This was what she had been dreading from the first time she'd heard about the blue woman. The moment that he would either choose her or Hope.

She struggled for words, her fire gone.

"Wow, so, she's nearly naked huh?"

_Dumb statement, little girl_, she thought to herself. _Don't remind him._

"Yeah," he said vaguely.

_Way to open up the line of communication, baby._

"So is she always that . . . combative?"

Hank continued to stare blindly outward.

"She didn't used to be. Now, yeah."

Hope had to be honest.

"Well, I guess I didn't help anything by attacking her."

Hank shrugged.

"She's very . . . absolute. Either you're with her or against her."

_Good to know._

Hope took a deep breath.

"Do you still love her?"

Now _that_ was definitely the question of the day.

_I haven't lied yet and I'm not going to start now._

And so he spoke truthfully.

"In the beginning, I could have. I wanted to. Now . . . no. Not that version."

Hope let out her pent up breath slowly, carefully.

And mentally kicked herself for verbalizing her next question.

"Do you still want me?"

Hank said nothing for a long moment. Hope waited, her heart in her throat and pounding painfully.

Finally, he turned and looked at her directly.

"Yes. I love you, Hope."

Hope took another deep breath and searched his blue eyes closely. He held her gaze, his face open and sincere.

Finally she exhale slowly. And said the only thing she could.

"Okay."

* * *

She held him in her arms again. And sat on the steps in the shallow end of the pool. He clung to her, afraid and whimpering.

She edged deeper into the water, up to her knees, her thighs, her hips.

Slowly, carefully. The summer sun warm upon their blue skins.

Reaching down into the water with her palm, bringing it up carefully to wipe the cool water on his back, his neck, his cheek.

Speaking softly, tenderly.

"See, my little night crawler? It doesn't hurt. It's just water."

He pouted at her.

"Smells funny."

She smiled gently.

"That smell is a chemical called chlorine. It makes the yucky germs go away."

He just stared. She scrunched up her face in a silly expression to make him smile and whispered.

"Just in case people go pee."

And he did smile. Just a little.

She took his small, soft, three-fingered hand and slowly stretched it down to touch the water.

He gasped when his hand touched the water and his tail dipped in too.

"See? It's not so bad around here. You can swim everyday if you like. And the man in the wheelchair is my . . . brother. He's very kind. He will take good care of you."

The boy took her face in his hands, peering closely into her yellow eyes with his own yellow orbs.

"You're going to leave again."

She sighed, trying to keep the pain off her face.

"Yes, Kurt. I have to. To keep us, to keep _all_ of us safe."

His eyes filled with tears and he wrapped his little body around her.

"Don't want you to leave. Will miss you."

She hugged him, stroking his jet black hair that was so different from her own red mane.

"I know. I'll miss you too. But you'll be alright here, my little nightcrawler. You'll be safe."

They floated in the pool, just the two of them. Together. Just for a little while longer.

* * *

Charles in his wheelchair watched them from the shadows, his heart heavy and sorrowful deep within his chest.

Raven. His sister, Raven, was a mother.

A mother who was going to abandon her son to him.

And he wished he could find a way to make her, to make _them,_ stay.

Max quietly stepped to his side and knelt down next to the chair, his quills rippling slightly.

"What is she doing?" he inquired softly.

Charles sighed.

"She's being a mother. While she still can."

* * *

She stood in the doorway silently, watching her small son asleep in his large bed. Charles, in his wheelchair, held watch with her.

"He's a good boy, Charles. A little shy, which is understandable, but a good boy."

"A good boy who needs his mother."

"Yes, but where I must go, he will not be safe."

"You could stay. Here. Then you would both be safe."

"No. I have more work to do."

"Please, Raven . . ."

"Mystique, Charles."

"Please, _please_, stay."

A regretful sigh.

"I can't, Charles. I really can't. I'm sorry."

A moment of heavy silence stood between them. And all they'd ever had. And had lost.

"But please take care of him for me. And tell him . . . tell him I love him."

* * *

The next day, Hank and Hope converged on Charles' study at the same time.

"I need to talk with him," Hank said grimly.

"Me too," Hope replied, her expression reflecting his.

"About Mystique," they said together.

And blinked at each other in surprise. But not really.

Charles gestured to the chairs.

Hank nodded for Hope to speak first.

"I saw Mystique talking to some of the other mutants yesterday. Especially Morty."

Charles nodded.

"Okay. Well she is allowed interaction with others of course."

Hope remained solemn and Hank felt dread raising up within him.

"Yeah, of course. But now she's gone, right?"

Charles nodded again.

"And nobody's seen Morty all day."

Charles appeared grim. Hope continued talking.

"Do you think he went with her?"

Charles shook his head sadly, not answering.

Hank decided that as long as they were revealing negative news, he would say what he had come for as well.

"And there's more bad news. Erik's helmet is gone."

And they knew then that there had indeed been a darker ulterior motive to Raven's mysterious visit.

* * *

"So, I took a hit for you guys, you know."

Hope had become comfortable with seemingly talking to herself whenever she conversed with Peter.

"That was on purpose?"

She didn't even look for him anymore.

"Yep."

She just talked to thin air.

"I thought you were just excited about her . . . assets."

Though she really wished he'd slow down sometimes.

"Nope. That was just misdirection. Well, mostly."

Suddenly, the silver and black clad boy stood in front of her. She didn't even flinch.

"You know, gang, rumble. I couldn't just let Hank take a beating like that. And you were awesome too. But she was . . . brutal. I couldn't watch anymore."

Hope smiled.

"Well, thank you, Peter."

Then he grinned.

"Plus, she was _really_ hot."

Hope rolled her eyes. Then Peter spoke one last time.

"But you . . . you're _awesome_."

And she hugged him. He smiled his little smile, secretly thinking how lucky Hank was to have such a woman.

* * *

Morty was eventually found, quiet and introspective on the roof, but still a part of the small community of mutants within Xavier Manor. He remained mum on the subject of the blue woman. Charles dipped into his thoughts only long enough to hear a few exchanges.

_There just might be a better place for you and your skills, Toad._

_Maybe._

_When I come back, you'll need to choose a side and take a stand._

_But they're my friends._

_Friends don't always matter in times of war._

_Maybe._

_Just think about it, Toad._

_Okay._

Charles said nothing to Morty but resolved to knit their little group of mutants closer together than ever.

He searched for her later but she was inexplicably hidden from his sight.

And so little Kurt, the nightcrawler boy, remained with the others in Xavier Manor.

And being little more than five, he did not understand. And did not accept easily.

* * *

Everyone in the house did their part to take special care of Kurt. In their own unique ways.

Ink healed his many scrapes and boo-boos, much to the wonder of the blue boy and the consternation of Hope.

"Hey, man, that's _my_ job. Don't run me out of business," she'd tease gently.

And Ink, shy Ink would actually smile and talk back.

"Hey, it's not my fault I'm better at it than you, Sticky Fingers."

And she'd sneer lightly at him. But it did give her joy to see him coming alive.

Alex taught the child curse words which he encouraged him to say just as Charles and Hank were taking bites of food.

Max showed the little blue boy how to throw marshmallows so they would stick to his quills.

Chloe devised a tactile learning game to teach him his ABCs.

Hope learned the stupidity of offering to play hide and seek with him.

Charles attempted to teach him how to swim and play chess.

And Peter, who appeared to stay at the Manor more often than not upon graduation from high school, proved a most valuable asset in catching the little teleporter whenever he became distraught and attempted to escape and hide from his friends.

The only one who did not seem to take part in the care and raising of little Kurt the nightcrawler, was Hank.

Hank, though he tried to hide it, avoided the little blue boy like the plague.

The boy seemed to take it all in stride, as he had an entire gang of other mutants to dote on him.

But Hope noticed.

And did not approve.

She put up with it for about a week. Then she tracked him down hiding in his lab and shut the door firmly.

She stood before him with her arms crossed, staring a hole through his skull until he put down his work and turned to her.

"Hank, it's unfair to blame that boy for who his mother is."

He nodded, looking away.

"I know. It's just . . . difficult."

Hope did not back down.

"It's more difficult for him to be shunned. He just wants to be loved. Even if he won't show it."

Hank scratched his head.

"Yeah, but . . ."

Hope cut him off firmly.

"I love you, Hank. And I understand, I really do. But no 'buts'. At least be friendly to him."

He met her eyes and saw that she was very angry with him. He didn't want her to be angry. Plus, he knew she was right.

"I'll try," he offered half-heartedly.

Hope squinted her eyes up at him, her stern gaze brooking no argument.

"Try _real_ hard," she said. "Think about how _you_ would feel if you were him. He's just a little _boy_, Hank. You were a little boy one time."

Hank finally relented with a heavy sigh.

"Okay."

Hope nodded, keeping her eyes locked with his. He thought he might be starting to get a headache from the intensity of her gaze.

Finally she softened.

"Good man," she replied, lightly.

And kissed him on the cheek.

* * *

**How are your feels doing now? Sufficiently scrambled?**

**Thanks to MoonlitShadowsoftheHumanSoul, Pandiichan, Aletta-Feather, X . Kuchisake - Onna . X, I've Been a Labrat, Pazithia . Gallifreya, and brigid1318 for your time and generosity. **

**And now, to quote Samuel L Jackson in 'Jurassic Park' . . . "hold on to your butts" . . . do you trust me?**


	21. The Dark Beast

I do not own X-Men anything.

You'd think I'd run out of words by now. You'd be wrong.

Reaching Out

**(Warning: This chapter is rated 'M' for horror. Just to be safe.)**

Chapter 21: The Dark Beast

* * *

Hank held her body as her precious lifeblood gushed out upon the once pristine lawn of Xavier Manor. That proud and once noble structure that now belched flame and smoke into the night sky.

She convulsed his arms, those arms that despite their covering of blue fur and thick roping of muscles, held her dying body gently, tenderly.

"Hope," was all he could manage. "Hope, _no_ . . ."

Her bloodshot brown eyes, once so bright and warm, were rapidly losing their light as her spirit drained out of her mangled body.

Ink couldn't have healed the ragged hole in her chest. Not even if his cooling corpse had not been face down only feet away from where Hank now huddled, weeping over his Hope.

His Hope who had now gone away from him.

Forever.

He clutched her body to his, gently rocking it back and forth, tears streaming down his filthy face.

His glasses were gone, lost in the battle.

It didn't matter. There was nothing left of worth for him to see anymore. Now that she was gone.

That battle which at the moment had seemed so very important. That battle which had become so pointless now that she lay dead in his arms.

He wondered vaguely then when he would die. Surely now that so many of his allies and friends lay lifeless around him, his time wouldn't be long in coming.

If he could have felt anything, he would have yearned for death. For the timeless void. For the empty darkness.

Because without her, he had no life.

Erik. Erik, the instigator to all this misery and pain. Erik the destroyer. Erik the one who had descended onto their sanctuary, ripped apart their burgeoning family of mutants.

At least he lay dead amid the smoke and ashes.

With Charles. Charles the peacekeeper, Charles the negotiator, Charles the professor.

They lay nearly in an embrace, mutant brother to mutant brother. Always at odds, always arguing, always battling between them for each other's agendas. Each other's souls.

Their mutual brotherly love had not been enough to save them from destroying each other.

And everyone around them.

Including his Hope.

His beautiful, ethereal, dead Hope.

"It was . . . Erik," he whispered.

An image, monstrous and hulking, wavered before him as his salty tears coursed their way down his face again.

"No," the deep voice replied. "Not Erik. It was the humans. What they did to him, that caused all this. The humans. They should be made to suffer. And the mutants that did not stop it."

Hank shook his head. With Hope gone, it was so hard to think, to consider, to analyze. He couldn't tell fact from lie, reality from hallucination.

And it didn't seem to matter anymore anyway.

Hope. Hope was dead. His Hope.

And their child growing within her still flat belly.

The figure continued speaking.

"But if you agree to work for me, I will bring her back to you. I have the power."

Power.

Power.

Power to save Hope.

Save Hope.

Hank looked up, the humanoid form mysterious in the floating smoke and ashes.

"What . . . what do I have to do?"

The voice spoke again. Soft as thunder and cruel as snow.

"Does it matter if you can have her back?"

It should.

But it didn't.

Hank looked back down at the hollow, bloody form still clutched in his desperate embrace.

"No," he replied, carefully closing her eyes with his blood-smeared fingers and softly kissing the lids.

And he lay her gently upon the crushed grass. Her long brown hair fanned out, lifeless figure still svelte and lithe.

Too soon. It had been too soon. They had only just found out. He had never even gotten to hear the heartbeat.

Hank McCoy stood slowly, beast muscles rippling, blue fur caked with dirt and blood.

Her blood.

And stepped toward the humanoid figure waiting for him.

Then she appeared.

Raven.

Her whom he had first loved, first failed.

Her blue form, red hair, yellow eyes stepping out from the swirling smoke, approaching him.

"Hank," she pleaded beseechingly, crying out for him. "Hank, don't go with him! Please, he's not what he seems, Hank!"

He barely glanced at her as she approached.

"I don't know you," he muttered absently.

She reached him, clutching at his clothes, rippling from her blue form into her human form.

"Hank," she pleaded, her now blue eyes filling with tears. "please, Hank, you know me. You remember me, Hank."

His legs wobbled suddenly with overwhelming grief and Hank collapsed to his knees in supplication, his anguished face cupped in his clawed hands. He felt her move forward, kneel in front of him.

He couldn't look up at her, couldn't move.

She wrapped her arms around him, holding him close. He wept openly, unable to stop, unable to care.

"Hank," she whispered. "I'm sorry but she's gone. Come away with me now, Hank. Please, come with me. She's dead. You have to let her go. I'm sorry. She's dead."

He didn't know where the gun in his hand came from, or when it had appeared.

He didn't know when he pulled the trigger or when he had held it up to her head.

But when she collapsed against him without a sound, rippling back into her natural blue form, he heard himself whisper words he faintly recognized as his own.

"You're not Hope."

And she slid off him, crumpling onto the ground, stunned cat eyes open, fresh blood now upon his clothes, mixing with his beloved Hope's.

He stood slowly, everything he had ever known destroyed and gone away from him.

He was hollow, empty, a shell of a creature. Even his flow of tears had dried up as his soul withered and died within him.

The deep, commanding voice spoke again.

"Come, Beast. There is nothing left for you here now."

And he did.

He moved numbly to stand in front of the shadowy entity.

That entity that mimed human interaction and held out his hand-thing to Hank.

Who, in an empty daze, gripped it.

As he did, power and rage surged through him like a shot of white lightening. His fur and exposed flesh rippled from rich blue into a darker, inkier, almost black color tone. His orange eyes blazed with an unholy light then turned completely jet black.

Apocalypse, his master, released his grip and spoke in a booming command.

"You will now serve me as my fourth horseman . . . Death."

The Dark Beast threw back his head and roared to the skies and all who heard it shuddered and moaned and covered their ears as they fell to their knees, trembling in abject dread and cold fear.

* * *

He thrashed himself from sleep, sitting up in the darkness, snarling and roaring, sweating and crying.

"Hank? Hank?"

He heard his name but ignored it. It could not be. It was not her voice. He had held her as she died, bled to death in his arms. Watched as the light he loved so faded from her beautiful brown eyes.

It could not be her. It could not be his Hope.

His Hope was dead.

"Hank? _Hank_?"

His blood red gaze took in his surroundings. A dark room. Light in filtering in from an open door. Figures just within the space.

That voice again.

". . . go, Charles! He needs me!"

Another voice. Slightly deeper, male.

"No, it's not safe just yet. Wait a minute."

He felt a presence pressing against his consciousness and shoved it away with a deep throated snarl.

His claws were out, shredding the bedding that trapped him.

Growling, snarling, roaring.

More light, a . . . what was that thing _called_ . . . a . . . lamp . . .

And again, the voice calling out to him.

"Hank? It's me. It's Hope. Hank?"

He looked and his vision cleared a little and he saw her.

Hope.

Long, dark hair. Pale, frightened face.

Soft green sleeping pants, simple white shirt.

She couldn't be here. She was dead.

He looked again.

She was whole, she was breathing, she was _alive_.

She was not real. She could not be. A hallucination. A trick.

". . . trick," he muttered gutterally. "Trick. Dead."

She paled further, but managed to respond.

"No, Hank, I'm not dead. I'm alive. And so are you."

The man in the wheelchair spoke.

"Hank, you need to calm your mind."

That man. Charles. That man was Charles Xavier.

"Get . . . out . . . Xavier."

Charles hesitated, looking at Hope. She kept her eyes trained on the blue, furry figure before her but reached back for the man behind her. He took her hand. She squeezed it.

"It's okay," she whispered back to him.

Charles hesitated further, opening his mouth, and speaking in Beast's head at the same time.

"Hank -"

"_GET OUT_!" he roared.

Both figures flinched and beyond them, Beast saw more shadows gathering in the light.

Heaven? For her? Waiting? For her?

"Hope," his voice rough and broken. "Don't . . . go."

Her form paused, head bobbing.

"Okay. Charles, leave and close the door."

Without a word, the man in the wheelchair slowly reversed out of Beast's mind and the room itself, closing the door.

The room fell dark again, save for the soft glow of the doorside lamp.

The figure of Hope moved slowly toward Beast. She stopped at the foot of the bed, heart pounding so hard her entire body ached.

"Can I . . . touch you?" she requested quietly.

He nodded, head down, words failing him.

She reached out slowly, willing her hand not to tremble. It still did.

He had torn and ripped off his shirt in his rage. Now his upper body was bare and blue and furry. Heaving with heavy emotion and rushing adrenaline.

She laid her hand on one shoulder. He flinched just a little, growling with each ragged breath. His muscles were tensed, tight, knotted.

She took another step, finally standing directly in front of him.

"It's okay, Hank. It's okay," she whispered, now placing a stabilizing, reassuring hand on each shoulder, moving slowly up his neck to his furry face.

He closed his eyes. Reveling in her closeness. She must be real. She could not be here and look and feel and sound and smell so much like Hope and _not_ be real.

He reached up with his furry, clawed hands and placed them on her hips, submissively resting his blue, sweat-damp forehead against the flat of her stomach.

He was still trembling and moaning and growling deep within his throat.

She pressed her hands to the sides of his head, curling her fingers softly in his tangled fur.

"It's okay, Hank. It's okay."

Such relief flooded through him that she was here and alive and speaking that he forgot to be embarrassed at the intimacy of her touch to him and his to her.

She continued whispering to him. He absorbed her intonations and meanings without really hearing her exact words.

Little by little, his growls and snarls continued to ease and his breathing evened out. Hope gently guided him to lay on his bed on his stomach, with his head turned toward her beloved form.

She rubbed and massaged his tense, angry muscles from head to toe. Soothing down his tangled, wild blue fur with her strong, loving fingers.

Whispering, whispering, always whispering. Reassurances, promises, admonitions of devotion and love.

Until the blue, furry creature fell asleep.

* * *

**Okay, so did I send everybody back to church then? *grins**

**T****here is an alternative comic reality storyline much different than mine that I plucked the Dark Beast character from. But the story itself is all mine.**

**In response to my sweet brigid1318, allow me to clarify. Dreams aren't logical. And I'm not saying this is prophetic either. I mean, Hank can't even know about Apocalypse. This is just Hank's worst nightmare. And you'll see the effect it has on him tomorrow.**

******Due to my environment, as a child I frequently was plagued by reoccurring nightmares. They were vivid and hellish. As an adult in charge of my own life, I now sleep peacefully. But I still remember the dreams. **

******Let's switch gears for a second. For some inexplicable reason, I keep associating Hank/Raven interactions with "Lady, Your Roof Brings Me Down" by Scott Weiland (oh yeah, former lead singer of Stone Temple Pilots but this is not STP, no). Youtube it and tell me what you think, if you like.**

******So thanks to brigid1318, ChiefPam, I've Been a Labrat, MoonlitShadowsoftheHumanSoul, and Aletta-Feather for reviewing. Hope you survived this chapter. ;)**

******Now, in true form and 'cause I love you guys, let's find the brighter side, shall we?**


	22. Embracing the Light

I do not own X-Men anything.

You'd think I'd run out of words by now. You'd be wrong.

Reaching Out

Chapter 22: Embracing the Light

* * *

The soft morning sun was filtering flickering rays into his bedroom when Hank woke up.

He lay on his left side.

He wore no shirt.

The bedclothes were torn and shredded.

Hope lay on her right side, facing him, still asleep.

Her face was peaceful, breathing deep and even. One hand cradled her head, the other curled up under her chin.

She was beautiful. She was safe. She was _alive_.

Even so, he remembered it all clearly, even in the clearing light of day.

Her death, his murder of Raven, his acceptance of the hand of the monster.

He remembered awakening in a rage, all blue and furry and dangerously out of control.

Charles had wanted to retreat. Hope had chosen to stay.

And she had, with soothing gestures and calming murmurings.

He had fallen asleep a beast and awoken a man.

That terrible dream, that dark vision, could become a reality. At any time.

And yet, this now, was all the time he would ever have to be with her.

He could either spend that time in fear and dread, pushing away happiness, tiptoeing around life, waiting for his demise.

Or he could enjoy whatever time he had with his friends, contributing to the goodness of the world however he could. Pushing forward out of his small comfort zone. Creating himself into the person he chose to be.

With his Hope.

Embracing every single aspect of their life together.

Something turned over in Hank then.

He was ready. He was confident. He was sure.

He reached out his human hand and brushed her tangled dark hair out of her face, tucking it gently behind one perfect ear. She sighed a little in her sleep, turning her face into his hand.

He smiled adoringly and ran gentle fingertips along the smooth flesh of her cheek. Her skin was warm and soft and her muscles relaxed in her sleep.

She shifted a little and opened her eyes slowly, sleepily. Blinking heavily, she finally focused on his face.

"Hey," he said softly.

That light, that beautiful, perfect light was in her eyes again. Bathing him in love and buoying him up. Making him feel stronger, more confident. Happier.

"Hey," she replied. "You feel better?"

He nodded.

"Thanks to you."

She stretched out a hand and caressed his face with fingertips light and soft as mist. Eyebrow, cheekbone, jawline, down around to his chin, and drifting over his lips. He kissed them lightly as they lingered there.

"I'm glad."

She ghosted a smile.

"You didn't run away. You stayed."

Her gaze was warm and clear.

"I know you, Hank. You won't hurt me."

She believed in him more than anyone ever had. When he was the beast and when he chose not to be. She believed in him when he didn't believe in himself. When he didn't deserve that belief.

"I love you, Hope."

She answered without hesitation, easily, warmly.

"I love you too, Hank."

His heart swelled and he knew then exactly what he would say.

"This is all the time we have in the world and I don't want to waste any more of it only half with you. Whether it's a few days or a few months or decades, I just want to be with you. Hope, will you marry me?"

Her eyes widened a little and she drew her breath slowly in and then let it out the same way. And broke into a big dazzling smile that brightened every corner of his heart and mind. Her answering whisper though quiet and breathless, was full of happiness and excitement.

"Yes!"

He leaned forward and kissed her with all of his gratitude and love.

She moved forward into his arms and he wrapped her in his embrace, savoring her light and love and acceptance.

Their kisses deepened as their bodies and emotions awoke further. Finally, Hope broke the contact and rubbed her nose to his lightly before shifting away.

"I love you, Hank. I can't wait to marry you. And I'm going to get up now because we're not married _yet_."

He smiled and let her go. He wouldn't have had it any other way. Well, mostly.

"And I'd like for you to speak with my parents," she concluded.

_Okay, I'm up, I'm up._

And he got up too. After a minute.

* * *

He went out that very morning.

He had dressed himself nicely (no suit) and sent himself out into the world to ask Hope's parents for their blessing.

He had not brought roses.

And now he was here. At the front door of her parents' home. Eye to eye with her father.

"Well, hello, Hank. Good to see you again."

He promised himself he would remain calm and not succumb to a panic attack.

After all, he had already been through Sentinels, deadbeat Charles, the metal-bending maniac Erik Lensherr, and several run ins with the emotional turmoil that was the mutant Raven/Mystique. Or, as Hope so eloquently called her, 'that-blue-scaly-angry-woman-who-needs-to-get-right-off-my-planet-if-she-thinks-she's-going-to-tear-you-down-and-get-away-with-it'.

_So this should be a piece of cake, right?_

Hank shook the proffered hand of Harold, Hope's father. Who, though he seemed to like Hank well enough by now, currently appeared suspicious.

_Nope. I'm dead._

This was after all, the first time Hank had shown up on his doorstep without Hope.

And if he could look back upon his life, the older man had more of an inkling of what this little visit was about.

Wordlessly, he gestured Hank into the house.

Hank followed, forcing himself to stand straight and tall.

_I love Hope. I love Hope. I love Hope._

Hope's mother smiled a big, open welcome at him and in his anxiety, he managed only a tight-lipped semblance of a smile in reply. But at least he could create anything resembling a smile. She raised an eyebrow curiously at him and it was all he could do not to rush her.

_Please don't let him kill me. Can I have a hug? Or a Twinkie?_

Hank found himself once again in the parlor with the fireplace shrine and Hope's grandmother, who seemed to live on the couch with her knitting now that she had no grandson to ride her on his hog.

"Well, hello, Big Blue! How are you? Come give me a hug."

He did as he was told and then set himself facing Hope's father. Under the scrutiny of Harold, Catherine, and the not really blind as a bat, hog riding grandma, Hank cleared his throat.

They waited.

_I am not nervous. I love Hope. I can do this._

And he spoke.

When he was done, nobody killed him. Or even tried.

And it was okay.

* * *

"Hank and I are getting married," Hope announced.

Charles was playing chess with Kurt. When he looked up, his reaction was not as surprised as Hope would have thought it might be.

"Really? How wonderful! It's about time, wouldn't you say?" he smiled broadly at her.

Then he moved a chess piece and nodded to Kurt.

"Now if I move my knight here, what can you do to capture him?"

Kurt, his little blue face scrunched up in concentration, studied the board intently.

"Have you set a date?"

Hope blushed.

"End of the month. Actually I wanted to ask if we could have it here on the lawn. It's so beautiful here and . . ."

Charles waved his hand in a dismissive gesture.

"Of course! I'd be honored."

She smiled.

"Thank you, Charles."

She started to speak again but Chloe suddenly arrived at her side, green eyes wide, gripping her by the arm.

"Girl talk!" she announced to Charles and Kurt and proceeded to drag Hope away.

Charles chuckled and then redirected his attention to his nephew.

"Very good move, Kurt! You captured my knight! Now let's see what I can do to counter it . . ."

* * *

Chloe practically dragged Hope into the kitchen.

"You're getting _married_?!"

She hugged the older girl tightly, giddy with excitement.

_Now _that's_ the reaction I wanted from somebody. _

Chloe released her, her face practically glowing.

"So when's the big day?"

Hope gently disengaged herself from the delighted telekinetic's grasp.

"Three weeks."

Chloe's eyes almost popped out of her sockets.

"That's really quick!" she gasped.

Hope shot her a disbelieving look.

"Quick? Are you _kidding_? I've known him for _five_ years! That is _not_ quick!"

With fantastic timing, Peter's silver and black form appeared in front of the suddenly opened fridge door.

"What's not quick? Not me. I'm quick. What're we talking about?"

Chloe turned to him, her face alight with joy and excitement.

"Hank and Hope are getting married in three weeks!" she gushed.

Peter's face registered surprise.

"Wow!"

He disappeared and instantly reappeared inches away from Hope who flinched back reflexively.

"You pregnant?" he asked, quirking his eyebrows at her.

She recovered from the intrusion, decided she wouldn't punch him because he was just Peter, and replied calmly.

"No."

He registered doubt, squinting his eyes at her.

"No really."

She pursed her lips and reconsidered the punch.

"Really."

He cocked an eyebrow at her.

"Seriously?"

She eyeballed him directly.

"Seriously."

He tilted his head.

"Come on . . ."

Hope huffed, growing irritated. Chloe took the opportunity of the verbal tennis match to levitate Peter's soda right out of his hand and into hers. He relinquished it, focused on the blushing, annoyed woman in front of him.

"Peter, I . . . am . . . not . . . preg . . . nant."

She enunciated each syllable slowly. Peter glared her intentional slow torture of him.

"Uh, huh, right . . ."

Hope's frustration was growing by leaps and bounds.

_I put forth that specific effort to not do anything resulting in pregnancy, which was _not _easy mind you, and now I'm getting _no_ credit for it?! Well, at least I can confuse him and shut him up._

"Peter, listen to my words. Unless it's the second _virgin_ _conception_, no, I am not pregnant!"

He blinked, baffled.

"Huh?"

Hope gave him the 'you poor thing, you're so asinine' look and he rolled his eyes.

"Well, whatever. When that kid pops out in seven months with blue fur and sticky mutant toes, we're having another chat."

Then with that impish grin of his, he pecked her lightly on the cheek.

"Congrats."

Then he was gone in rustle of air.

Chloe huffed in his wake, absconded soda bottle still in hand.

"Well that's just silly. Of _course_ not you're not pregnant . . ."

Hope would've said 'thank you' then but Chloe, unfortunately, kept right on talking.

". . . are you?"

Hope glared.

"_Chloe_!"

The pixie girl shrugged.

"What? I mean, me and Ink . . ."

Hope held out her hands in a surrender gesture.

"Oh my gosh, _please_ stop talking!"

Chloe swigged her stolen soda.

"What I'm just saying if you've done it . . ."

Little Kurt bamfphed between them.

"Done what?"

Hope stammered, her face growing redder by the moment.

"Oh, uh . . ."

_We should've just eloped. Like, _today_. Like, this morning._

"Swam in the deep end of the pool," Chloe said automatically.

Kurt's face brightened noticeably.

"Oh, pool! I like the pool. I'm gonna learn to swim the deep end of the pool one day," he said proudly, puffing out his thin chest. "I'm gonna dive real deep and be the best!"

Chloe spewed soda out of her mouth, choking and coughing and laughing altogether as Hope facepalmed herself. Little blue Kurt just looked confused.

_Oh Hank, they've all gone bat crap crazy. How're _you_ doing?_

As it turned out, for once, Hank was doing much better.

He got the blessing, happy acceptance, and even a few tears. And more hugs. Except for Harold. Who shook his hand again. And squeezed. Just a little.

* * *

**Yeah, our guy Hank sometimes requires extreme measures to shove him into action. Too much a thinker, that one. **

**Yes, yes, I see the correlations between Hank & Hulk too. But hey, don't blame me. Blame Bryan Singer for making Hank all morphy, yeah? *winks**

**If my husband read the proposal, acceptance, and kiss (he didn't), the first thing he would say was 'Eww, morning breath' and I would say thusly unto him 'Dude, it's romance! Back off, Bub!' *snickers at Wolfy irritated at my use of his catchphrase.**

**I taught my son to play chess when he was five. 'Cause he's awesome. Apparently though nothing compares to Sir Spongebob of the Squarepants. *sigh**

**Yeah, that whole Peter/Hope conversation? Yep, I said that same thing to my preacher. Shut him up too. So there. ;)**

**Thanks to brigid1318 (Rubik's Cube indeed, excellent description), X . Kuchisake - Onna . X, Aletta-Feather, Jasper6509, I've Been a Labrat, MoonlitShadowsoftheHumanSoul, and for showing up and talking to me. Hope this brings you back from the precipice of my darkness. :) **

**You know, Hank has parents too . . .**


	23. Validation and Peace

I do not own X-Men anything.

You'd think I'd run out of words by now. You'd be wrong.

Reaching Out

Chapter 23: Validation and Peace

* * *

"Okay, preparing to start descent."

Hope's tinny voice sounded confident through the headphones. He had taught her well.

Though currently something else was occupying his thoughts.

"Maybe this isn't a good idea."

She did not reply.

"We could just keep going."

Hope remained unresponsive to his suggestion.

"You know, elope or something," he said desperately. "We could still have the wedding and all, of course."

She busied herself with the controls.

"I mean, I'm sure Charles wouldn't mind us taking a few days. I could just call him."

Hope finally turned to the handsome man next to her.

"Hank . . ."

He glanced over, trying to look calm and succeeded in only looking anxiously hopeful behind his stern glasses.

"Yes?"

She smiled gently.

"I thought you _wanted_ to do this."

He nodded uncertainly.

"I did. I just . . ."

She reached out a hand and he took it gratefully.

"They're expecting us, you know," she said.

He nodded.

"Yeah, yeah . . ."

She squeezed his hand.

"And you said you were ready."

He sighed.

"Yeah, I know . . ."

Hope put her hand back on the control wheel.

"Hank . . ."

His bespectacled blue eyes met her brown ones.

"Yeah?"

She smiled gently.

"I'm going to land the plane now."

Hank drew a deep breath and looked resolutely out the cockpit window.

"Okay."

* * *

They left the plane in a small landing strip just outside of Dundee, Illinois and Hank drove the car into the small town itself.

He had not returned since graduating from Harvard when he was fifteen. He had come home briefly before beginning his work for the government. That had been well over ten years ago. He had called on extremely rare occasion. But mostly, he had left them alone. Because that way, they wouldn't have to be faced with him.

Their child. Their only child. Their mutant child.

Everything looked the same. Exactly the same. As if he'd never left. As if he'd been teleported through time back to his childhood. It was unnerving, unsettling.

It was home.

"Hank?"

Hope reached out and rubbed the back of his neck gently.

"You okay?"

He let out a pent up breath, not realizing that he'd slowly been clenching up. He flexed his hands on the wheel, listening to the beast growl within him.

"Yeah," he murmured.

_Not really._

"I got beat up there," he relayed, pointing.

A sunny, green park.

Seconds later.

"And there."

An middle school.

A few minutes after that.

"And there."

A hardware store parking lot.

Hope looked at him with compassion. Compassion, not pity. She had known this was going to be difficult for him.

"See anything good?" she asked lightly.

He stopped at a red traffic signal and looked over her.

"You."

She grinned, leaned over, and kissed him.

He let her.

Then a car irritably honked its horn behind them and they broke contact. The light was green. Hope boldly smiled and waved back at the driver.

Hank drove on.

He knew the way. He didn't want to.

A few minutes later, they came to a quiet neighborhood with white two-story clapboard houses along a tree-lined avenue.

He stopped in front of one such abode and shut off the car.

Then he didn't move.

"Right on time," Hope observed quietly.

He nodded without speaking and did not move. She sat with him.

Finally he spoke.

"They didn't abuse me. They didn't neglect me. They never even raised their voices to me."

Hope took his hand in hers.

"But . . . they were always so . . . ashamed of what I was.

She listened.

"My dad's a scientist. He was proud that I was so intelligent. But my feet . . ."

He drifted off for a minute before continuing.

"And my mother. She thought she could overcome my . . . mutation by teaching me to have proper manners and strict decorum. Exact diction and perfect English."

Hope glanced at the house and thought she saw the curtain move.

"So I tried to act just right and be just right so they would accept me. So I could be good enough."

Was that a figure at the window? Waiting in dread? Or hopeful anticipation?

"But I never felt like I was. I felt like I was an embarrassment. I didn't mean to be. I didn't want to be. I just wanted to feel . . . normal. "

He looked toward the house surreptitiously.

"Your mother seemed glad to hear from you on the phone," Hope ventured.

Hank nodded absently. Pointed to an upper story window.

"See that window? That was my room. I had the entire upper floor. So they could pretend I wasn't there sometimes I think."

Finally, Hank took a deep breath and left the relative safety of the car. Hope followed suit. As they walked up the path to the house, Hope took his hand.

He glanced at her. She was beautiful. Her long hair was thick and glossy. Her brown eyes were warm and full of her special light.

She smiled at him and he knew that he was going to be okay. No matter what.

Then the front screen door opened. A petite, older woman with a tight bun of graying hair and a neat print dress slowly stepped out.

Hank paused. She was older than he remembered. She would be, of course. She was in her sixties now, as it had taken several years for them to have Hank. A result of his father's work, he supposed. And after the presentation of his monkey toes, there had been no more children.

Her bright blue, searching eyes found his and were veiled in her smooth, aged face.

"Hank?"

He took a deep breath.

"Hello, Mother."

They had reached the steps. She stood on the porch, uncertain.

Hope squeezed Hank's hand and then let go.

There were three steps up from the path to the porch. Hank ascended them slowly. He made it to the second, looking nervously at the woman who stood there.

Then her shell broke and she reached out for him.

"Oh Hank, oh my boy . . ."

Her arms wrapped around him and she hugged him tightly, sobbing quietly. She smelled the same, felt the same. Her voice even held the same resonations. He hugged her back, insides mixing and churning in a swirling soup of emotion.

_Damn right you're crying. _

_Why couldn't you have cared like this when I was younger?_

_I missed you, Mother. Or, rather _this_ you._

_Okay, now I can't breathe._

And he heard her voice speaking.

"Oh Hank, I've missed you. I'm so sorry, just so sorry, I'm sorry . . ."

She was crying. Hank wasn't. He wanted to.

"It's okay, Mother. It's okay."

She looked up at him, tears streaming down her smooth cheeks.

"I've missed you so much. It's been so long. Can you ever forgive me?"

_She really must be really distraught since she used 'can' instead of the proper 'will_, Hank thought vaguely.

He decided not to mention it.

"Yes, Mother. It's okay."

She wiped at her tears with one hand, still maintaining contact with the other. Then she looked down at Hope for the first time.

Hank looked back as well. Tears were shimmering in Hope's deep brown eyes and a small smile hung on her face.

He reached out his hand and she took it, moving up the steps to meet Hank's mother on the porch.

"Mother, this is my fiancé, Hope."

The older woman hugged Hope with trembling arms. Then drew back and stroked her face much the way she had just embraced Hank.

_For someone who never cared for physical contact when I was a child, she sure is a hugger now._

"Well aren't you just _beautiful_, my dear?"

Hope smiled.

"It's wonderful to meet you, Mrs. McCoy."

Hank's mother swiped at her flushed, tear streaked face again, attempting to resume her poise.

"Oh well, I usually don't look such a sight. I am a little emotional at the moment."

Hope smiled gently.

"I would be offended you weren't a little emotional, Mrs. McCoy."

Hank's mother smiled.

"Please call me 'Edna'."

Hope nodded.

"Edna," she amended.

Hank nearly fell over at his mother's next words.

"Or 'Mom."

_Wow. Has she had a stroke or something? This is not the person I grew up with._

There was a creaking sound and Hank saw a figure in the doorway. His father. As a grown man, Hank could more easily see their resemblance to each other. Tall, lanky, though his father had developed a slight pot belly. Same general facial features.

Except his father never turned blue, furry, or had monkey toes.

Or as much hair left on his head as his son.

"Hello, Dad."

Time seemed to stop as Hank moved numbly forward to face his father.

Norton McCoy held out his hand cordially to his son.

And Hank shook it.

The elder McCoy placed the other hand on his son's shoulder. His chin trembled slightly.

And then he pulled his son into a strong hug.

"Son . . ."

His murmurs of apology nearly sent his son over the edge.

* * *

Returning from the bathroom, Hope ran her hand over the hall wall to a framed photograph of her fiancé as a much younger boy.

Skinny, gawky, bandaged glasses, awkward smile.

Polka dot bow tie, plaid shirt, suspenders.

_No wonder he got beat up. Poor thing._

She wondered if he still thought of himself as that way. Or if the presentation of the beast and all his feral power had helped Hank grow to see himself as stronger, more developed man.

The way she saw him.

She hoped so.

From the parlor, she could hear Hank's mother still bragging.

". . . filled out so much! You're quite the mature, grown man now!"

And Hank's diffident reply.

"Thank you, Mother."

Hope smiled at Edna's next words.

"And your young lady, oh she's lovely, and seems so kind and intelligent. You can see it in her eyes."

Then Hank's father.

"You've done well for yourself, son."

_Yes, he has. Without either of your support, I might add. All on his own. Well, I might have helped a little._

"Thank you, Mother. I really have Hope to thank for a lot of that."

_That's right you do, loverboy. But thanks._

* * *

After Hank filled in his parents on as much of his life as he could safely manage without arousing their concern or suspicion (which turned out to be very little information indeed), his mother led Hank and Hope up to Hank's old bedroom.

It was up a steep flight of stairs off the kitchen. That kitchen with its small breakfast table and three chairs.

Though only two people currently dined there.

The upstairs was smaller than it appeared from outside. The landing at the top of the stairs opened into a medium sized space that held a sewing machine and chair, several heavy looking bureaus, and an enormous quilt box that, emptied, could hold more than half a dozen grown men stacked like sausages.

This one, Hank knew, held winter quilts and blankets protected from fabric eating moths by the musky aroma of mothballs. A small dormer alcove with a window held stacks of hatboxes and other sundries.

A tiny, closet sized bathroom stood ajar in a corner.

And then there was the open door to Hank's boyhood bedroom.

Apparently, it had been relatively untouched.

Patchwork quilts adorned neatly made twin beds under slanted eaves, a window between them. A threadbare rug lay on the hardwood floor between the two beds. A colorless, limp curtain hung at the lower half of the window.

A dresser with mirror stood on one side of the door they had just entered, a solid looking desk and chair on the other. A multitude of trophies and ribbons hung on shelves above one bed.

Another windowed alcove, this one stuffed with books, lay off to the left. Hope refrained from diving head first into them.

The space seemed still, dusty, and empty.

As if lonely, waiting to be filled up with the presence of a monkey toed, insecure, young boy with a brain full of brilliance and curiosity in his dark haired head.

Edna looked around the space and sighed.

"I used to come up here and sit. Thinking about everything. Remembering the years here. Wishing I could take it all back."

Tears shimmered in her eyes again.

"I felt like it was my fault. That I had done something wrong to make you be born the way you were."

Hank felt his jaw clench.

_And now we're back to me being a shame again. Something wrong with me. Yay._

"But I didn't do anything wrong. I know that now because there was never anything wrong with _you _at all. You were a _miracle_, Hank. A miracle I failed to appreciate for so many years."

He felt something his gut loosen then. As though whatever had been clenched up inside him had been unknotted and set free.

"Thank you, Mother."

She looked at him and smiled.

"Thank you for coming back, Hank."

* * *

Hope and Hank stayed for several hours. Hope requested her soon-to-be in-laws attend the wedding. They promised to make the fourteen hour one-way trip. Hank offered to fly them in under three. Neither of them ever having been on a plane before, nervously agreed nevertheless.

With hugs and handshakes all around, Hank and Hope left as the afternoon waned.

Even though the sins of the past were not diminished or made invalid, Hank felt a sense of peace.

_It wasn't me at all that was wrong. It never was. It was them. _

He looked over at Hope, stubbornly manning the aircraft controls. Refusing to relinquish them, jealously guarding the power and freedom of their flight. He didn't mind the monster he'd created. She was too beautiful, too amazing. Too Hope.

_You knew it was them all along, didn't you? You knew it wasn't me. _

_Of course I did, sweetie. And you did too. Deep down inside. You just needed me to believe it for you._

"Hope?"

She glanced over at him, her face full of light and life.

"Yeah?"

He smiled at her. That sweet, shy smile she loved so much.

"Thanks for landing the plane."

She smiled.

"You're welcome, Hank."

* * *

**Somewhere between 'Mama's Family' and my beloved grandfather's house is where the senior McCoys live.**

**I dedicate this chapter to ChiefPam and her beautiful, kind heart. I cannot express my appreciation to you enough. You know why, you sweetie, you.**

**And to everyone else out there, I hope you have peace and acceptance within yourself. And if not, I hope that someday you may find it. Even if you have to internally fight for it. Cause sometimes that's what it takes. :) **

**Yep, Edward Norton (hello, _nurse_) got me all fouled up the dad's name. I knew it would from the beginning. Thanks to brigid1318 helping me out. :)**

**Thanks to MoonlitShadowsoftheHumanSoul (who's taking care of Alex for me) and brigid1318 (who does **_**loads**_** of driving) for your reviews.**

**Thanks as well to I've Been a Labrat for not only your review but also for your inspiration with Hank & his background & folks. You guys should really read her stories. Just pick one. They're all gold, just gold, I'm telling you.**

**We are almost to the end now. Only four more chapters to go. I bet we can get these two married (having some **_**fun **_***wink, wink) by then. Whaddya think? **

**There's several other inhabitants of Xavier Manor besides just Hank and Hope. Let's check in with them, shall we?**


	24. With Friends Around

I do not own X-Men anything.

You'd think I'd run out of words by now. You'd be wrong.

Reaching Out

Chapter 24: With Friends Around

* * *

Things were pretty much flowing normally around Xavier Manor when Hank and Hope got back. Or as normal as teenage and young adult mutants are able to be.

Some days were fun. Charles found a devilish streak pulling pranks on some of the more smug denizens of Xavier Manor and then attributing it to the need for preparation.

"You never know when someone will attack your mind. You must ready to shield yourself," he warned Peter one day as the boy sat confused on the floor after succumbing to the inescapable urge to perform the chicken dance while standing in his chair at the breakfast table.

Some days he felt like a warden to a gang of miscreants.

"No, Max, it does _not_ count as recreation to take a car of mine without permission out on a joyride through town. Law enforcement does tend to feel suspicious of people driving backwards down Main Street no matter who they claim can pay the fine."

Sometimes, he felt like the only controlled individual in a sea of ardor-driven teenagers.

"Move along you two I've got no patience for you and your hormones."

Chloe pulled herself away from Ink and blushed at the man in the wheelchair.

"My hormones aren't any of your concern, Prof."

Charles pulled a serious expression.

"They are when they are blatantly wandering my halls. It's like a playboy party in there."

As Ink chuckled, Chloe made a face at the older man.

"And how would you know, Prof?"

Charles smiled wickedly.

"Because I wasn't always in this chair."

Chloe grinned back.

"But I was only _congratulating_ him on getting his GED."

Charles nodded understandingly.

"Ah, yes. Congratulations, Ink. You know, a congratulatory handshake can be very meaningful as well, Chloe."

Chloe grinned and snuggled up against Ink again.

"Yeah, hands. Hands are _good_."

She reached up to kiss the embarrassed tattooed man again.

"Hey!" she yelped as Charles bumped her with his chair.

"Go on. Move along."

_"Prof!"_

A little voice in Charles' mind woke up and whispered curiously.

_Do you really want to do this again? Minding mutant children and being parent, guide, and guardian to them? It takes up so much effort and time._

Charles considered this for a moment before answering himself.

_You know, I think I just might. Yes._

* * *

"You know, Hank, I've never seen you take your serum."

_Well, now, _that's_ a conversation starter._

He cleared his throat.

"No. I guess not."

"I want to see it."

He couldn't help himself.

"Why?"

She shrugged.

"If I'm going to be your wife . . ."

_Wife. She's going to be my wife. Wow._

". . . then I need to know everything I can about you."

He hesitated. It was a source of embarrassment for him.

_Please excuse me while I stab myself with a needle full of golden fire to refrain from turning into a circus sideshow freak._

_Growl._

_Oh stop it, Beast. _

_Growl._

Hope was still waiting.

"Well, uh, I can really take care of it myself," he said, trying to sound reassuring.

Hope nodded.

"Oh I know you can. But if there's ever a time when you _can't_ then logically, you should have a back-up. And I'd like it to be me."

_Ah man, she played the logic card. _

Hank acquiesced reluctantly.

"Okay."

She already knew about his backup. Several capped syringes always kept in the bedside table in his room. Often one stashed about his person somewhere.

He led her to his lab. To a locked case. Showed her where he hid the key. Unlocked it and opened it.

A month's supply of serum stood ready in four vials lined up in front of a closed silver back-up container.

"I take it once a week on Sunday morning," he said somewhat sheepishly, hoping she would ignore the obvious religion joke.

She most graciously did.

"Okay, so how do you do it?"

_You're just not going to be satisfied, are you?_

"It can pretty much be injected anywhere in a pinch. When we were fighting the Sentinels at the White House, I jammed three of them into my leg."

Stuck in that car, the fear, the revulsion, the shame of surrender.

"Okay, let me see it," Hope requested. "I want to see it."

_Really? Right here? Right now? But somebody could walk in and . . . oh, you're talking about the serum. Right._

"Um, okay."

And so he did. He punctured the flesh of his left forearm with the needle and depressed the plunger slowly, injecting the golden liquid into his coursing bloodstream. Removed the needle and placed it on the table. Picked up a cotton ball and pressed it to the injection site. Flexed his arm up, bent at the elbow.

Only then he did dare look at Hope.

Her lovely face was blank, brown eyes thoughtful and brooding.

"That's it," he said simply, shrugging.

She shook her head slowly.

"No, it's not. It's so much more. It weighs on your mind even though you think it gives you freedom. Which it does. But it also takes your freedom away as well."

_You sound like Raven. Why are you sounding like Raven? Are you trying to scare me?_

She looked down at the syringe, at his arm, and up again to his face.

"Have you ever considered not taking it and just being blue?"

_Yeah, blue, miserable, depressed, dejected, disheartened . . ._

"No," he answered laconically.

She tilted her head a little, chewing her lip in machination.

Hank waited.

Then after a minute she spoke. Her tone was light and dismissive.

"Okay."

And it was over.

He was relieved.

Except he didn't tell her that he had begun requiring more and more serum to stay not-so-blue-and-furry.

Because that would have opened up another line of consideration he did not wish to follow.

* * *

Kathleen stood in the tv room next to an equally silent Morty, staring in fury at the newscast.

"Hey," Alex said, coming into the room.

She flinched at his voice then looked at him, her eyes full of fire. Apparently, something on the news had angered her.

"What's up?" he asked casually.

She threw him a look of death and swiped at a tear threatening to escape her eye.

"You okay?"

Shaking her head, she moved past him toward the door.

Alex nodded his head, keeping his eyes trained on her.

"Hang on," he ventured, concern coloring his usual gruff tone.

He went after her and the door slammed in his face by power of her mind. He opened it and found her exiting the manor. The sky was overcast and dull, a direct reflection of her emotions as well, it seemed.

He caught up with her on the lawn and grabbed her arm.

"Wait."

She turned with his pull and threw a hard punch into his stomach.

"NO!"

He saw it coming and tensed up so her blow didn't hurt so much. Then she looked up at him, eyes full of hate.

"Better?" he asked calmly.

She blinked, as if surprised by his relaxed response to her violence.

"It's okay," Alex offered quietly. "You can talk, you know."

She smirked, no humor in her voice.

"So, you gonna tell me to be all _peaceful_ too?" she challenged, still looking for a fight.

Alex shrugged dismissively.

"No, be angry all you want."

She did a double take.

"Really?"

_This must be some sort of trick. Tricky trick._

"Yeah," Alex replied. "I got no call to tell people to be peaceful. I've always been angry and afraid of my powers and what they could do."

She resumed her previous glare.

"I'm not afraid," she retorted defiantly.

He nodded agreeably, thinking '_liar'_.

"Okay."

She glowered.

"I just don't believe the world is all rainbows and butterflies, okay?"

Serendipitously at that moment, a beautiful blue butterfly flitted between them before ascending higher toward the sun.

"Well except for that one," Alex quipped, trying to lighten her mood.

She rolled her eyes.

"Oh shut up."

She continued holding her angry persona but Alex thought he saw a bit less rage in her than before.

Then as she started to turn away, he had a thought and threw out a temptation she could not resist.

"Before you storm off again, want to help me break stuff?"

She turned back slowly, trying to hide her curiosity.

"They let you do that here?"

Alex shrugged, grinning wickedly.

"I don't ask."

* * *

"Pull!"

The telekinetic girl threw the china plate high into the air with her mind and Alex aimed a destructive red ring right into it, shattering it into a million little bits.

It was almost a game. Sometimes she threw it high; sometimes she threw it low. To one side or the other.

It was fun. Before long both Alex and the previously taciturn, glum, curly haired Kathleen were laughing and cheering.

"Nice throw, Kathleen!"

She swiped blond curls behind one ear.

"Kat."

Alex grinned.

"Huh?"

She ducked her head a little.

"Call me 'Kat'."

Alex huffed, theatrically rubbing his slightly sore stomach.

"Kat? Like kitty kat? No. How about 'Panther'?"

She grinned then. It made her look . . . pretty.

Then he reset himself.

"Okay, pull!"

She threw it, he aimed . . .

"What are you doing?!"

And they were caught.

Alex's shot went wide, spinning off into the sky and the china plate disappeared into the grass at the edge of the woods.

The guilty pair turned and stood silently before the wheel-chaired Professor X.

"Uh, practicing?" Alex ventured hesitantly.

Charles looked expectantly from one to the other. Kathleen glared back insolently at him, resentful at having been interrupted and ready for a confrontation all over again.

Charles studied the pair intently for a moment. Then he sighed and started to turn away.

"So that's it?" Alex called out. "You're just rolling off?"

Charles stopped and looked back at him

"No, I'm going to find the set of my mother's china I hate the most. You coming?"

* * *

"I know what you were doing."

Alex paused in making his sandwich. Then grabbed the pickles.

"What? Destruction of private property?"

Charles smiled knowingly.

"Drawing her out of her shell."

Alex shrugged.

"Not everyone's all peaceful and zen like you, Prof."

Charles nodded.

"I know. You reached her. Made her feel accepted."

Alex smirked, attempting to covered his sudden bout of self-consciousness with a quip.

"Ah, come one, great crime duos aren't _born_, Charles. They're _made_."

Charles smiled.

"I'll keep a set of destructibles on hand in the room next to yours then, shall I?"

* * *

Charles' parents had not been particularly religious. As a result, the manor held no chapel, no place of quiet religious reprieve.

Kurt, on the other hand, had spent several of his formative years surrounded by religious relics and individuals. Though he was still a young boy and henceforth very adaptable to changes in his environment he still sometimes missed the quiet, soothing aura of such an environment.

And so Charles commissioned the assistance of the other mutants of Xavier Manor to help him create a small place of respite in the large, unused walk-in closet space in Kurt's room so that he may visit there when he felt pulled to do so.

All the shelving and storage had been removed, leaving the space absolutely clean and empty.

A dark wooden table stood in the far wall. A figure of the Holy Mother and a figure of the Holy Mother holding the Christ child stood at opposite ends of the table. Next to each, placed further in on the table were yellow candles in simple golden candlebras. In the middle was a small, flickering candle votive. These small flickering flames were the only light in the space.

In front of the Holy Mother lay a set of black and cream colored wooden prayer beads. In front of the Mother with Child, sat a small oval ceramic dish on a stand. The dish was painted with the gentle visage of St. Nicholas, the patron saint of children. In the middle of the table sat a copy of the Bible.

Behind everything, hung on the wall, was a small wood and gold Holy Crucifix.

The cream colored walls had been soaked with flame retardant and a ventilation system installed to keep the air smoke free and clean.

Several pillows were stacked to the side to be used for a more comfortable reprieve.

It was a quiet, beautiful space.

The only rule for Kurt was that he may not lock the door.

And that all other mutants must show the utmost respect for this space and the boy when he was in it.

When Charles presented it to him, the little boy cried. At first, his uncle was alarmed, thinking it had upset the boy.

Until Kurt bamfphed into his arms, hugging him tightly.

"Mit tiefer Dankbarkeit," he murmured, expressing his great gratitude.

Charles returned the embrace, grateful he could make the boy so happy.

_And it only took so little. Yet to him it means so much._

Little Kurt spent much time there, comforted by the quiet, the candles, the ambience. By the thought that his mother like the statue of the one he looked upon, loved him very much.

Though she was not here to hold him.

When he felt sad and lonely or confused and lost, he retreated away to his quiet space.

And sometimes after a particularly long period of time there Charles, most carefully, would gently nudge his mind into deciding it was time to leave and rejoin the land of the living.

For no one should be alone all the time.

* * *

**Alex and Kat? Yeah, I had a guy take a hit from a very angry and turmoiled me once in high school. He was so gentle and kind and so totally above my social group that it has always stuck in my memory. Haven't heard from him in years. Hope he's doing okay. **

**And cred for the patrolling Charles goes to brigid1318. She suggested that like fifty chapters ago or something.**

**Kurt seeking solace in church was always so beautiful to me.**

**So anyway, thanks to ChiefPam, brigid1318, I've Been a Labrat, MoonlitShadowsoftheHumanSoul, Aletta-Feather, and X . Kuchisake – Onna . X for staying with this story. You are all very gracious.**

**I hear wedding bells . . .**


	25. A Momentous Occasion

I do not own X-Men anything.

You'd think I'd run out of words by now. You'd be wrong.

Reaching Out

Chapter 25: A Momentous Occasion

* * *

It was the perfect late-summer afternoon.

The hot, arid weather had been alleviated by a burst of rainstorm the day before and the grass had only just dried. Puffy, white cotton ball clouds floating lazily in the azure sky from nowhere and going to nowhere in particular. The grounds of Xavier Manor were pristine, having been professionally groomed for the occasion. Charles had also banned Alex and Kat from skeet shooting for the week before the big day to sure all the random scattered pieces of broken dishware were removed and discarded for optimum wedding day decorum.

The wedding, as per Hope's request, was going to take place outside.

As Hank had nearly no relatives, save his parents, and his friends were but the few inhabitants of Xavier Manor, the guests were not to be seated according to bride and groom but rather mixed together. Even so, the two small islands of chairs numbered no more than fifty. Nobody seemed to care. Attached to the back of each chair was a simple blue bow outlined in orange lace.

A white arch trellis had been constructed for the exchange of vows and a long white runner laid to lead the bride along her route to her groom.

The inside of Xavier Manor had also been professionally cleaned by an entire platoon of hired cleaners. It had taken an entire week.

"Been meaning to do it anyway," the master of the house had shrugged upon inquiry.

The entire structure now felt exhumed of dry, dusty abandonment and now seemed to appear waiting and ready for something. Something big. Something new.

* * *

Now Hank watched her as she walked toward him.

His Hope. A beautiful sunny smile on her lovely oval face. Warm, brown eyes shimmered with unshed tears of joy.

Her pleasant form adorned in a white wedding dress made for just her by her mother and grandmother.

It was simple and beautiful, just like her.

The modest, v-shaped bodice was edged in lace, crisscrossing her bust and encircling her with an empire waist. That laced waist that was thinly threaded with intertwining ribbons of blue and orange. Angel sleeves tipped in lace crochet drifted down just past her elbows, lending to her already ethereal appearance. The full length skirt flared slightly and near the hem was another thin lace band threaded with blue and orange ribbon.

On her feet, Hope wore white ballet slippers. In lieu of a veil, a white, flowered circlet adorned her dark hair. The make-up she wore was so subtly applied that only her natural, glowing bride beauty was apparent to those who looked upon her.

She was absolutely, undeniably beautiful.

Hank waited for her under the arch trellis, heart pounding, beast within rumbling happily.

Alex stood next to him. A single best man, suited up and dignified. Who had promised to be well-behaved and quiet.

Though for a while, Alex had been very trying. And Peter as well.

They had insisted on 'helping' him pick out his wedding attire.

"Nerds need all the assistance they can handle, man. And we're your guys."

Hank had managed to avoid the eye-searing plaid tuxedo that his most helpful friends had attempted to thrust upon him. Dodging also the blinding all-white outfits (which he informed them were actually death colors in several Asian cultures) as well as baffling baby blue and dirt brown frilled ensembles, Hank had urgently searched for something simple with a cut of dignity.

It hadn't been easy.

Peter had found a lemon yellow suit and tried to convince him to don it.

Hank had balked.

"Do you think that will actually look _good_?"

Peter grinned mischievously.

"Heck, no! That's why I want you to put it _on_, man!"

Alex had contributed by presenting him an inexplicably _salmon-colored_ suit.

Hank had only looked at him.

"It looks like Pepto-Bismol, Alex."

Alex grinned wickedly.

"Ah come on, pink is a good color, man. But you'll find that out _later_ . . ."

Hank had stared uncomprehendingly at him for several seconds until the intended meaning smacked him in the face and he blushed such a deep red that he appeared to be experiencing a severe sunburn. Or a stroke.

Hank had finally happened upon a plain black tuxedo with simple jacket and a long, thin tie. No cumbersome cummerbund or insanely flaring collars for him.

It fit his tall, lanky frame quite nicely.

"Now all you need is a top hat," Charles, a quiet observer until this moment, chimed in cheerfully.

Hank turned to the tailor.

"I'd like to buy this one. _Now_, please," he emphasized desperately.

The middle aged tailor, who had seen many grooms-to- be come and go in his many years, smiled and chuckled.

"You're lucky to have such good friends, son. They really care about you."

_Yeah, right. I feel sooo lucky._

But he really kind of had.

That being said, he had somehow managed to avoid a no doubt embarrassing bachelor party by pleading the help of his wheel-chaired telepath friend.

Hope on the other hand had been swept away to a local friend's house by Chloe and Hank had barely survived the giggles and suggestive looks from his fiancé and the green eyed, pixie girl ever since they had returned.

Now, all the rest of the world was forgotten and shrank to the narrowed focal view of his beloved Hope walking toward him on the arm of her father, smiling prettily and holding a bouquet of lilies.

_I see you. I remember looking up and seeing you. You, my Hope. I love you._

He hoped he would be able to say all the right words in all the right places and not stumble or falter on this their wedding day.

_I can do this. I can do this._

_Growl._

_Thanks, Beast._

"Who gives this woman to be married?" Charles Xavier, the requested officiator, intoned.

"Her mother and I."

Hope's father kissed her cheek, nodded just a little to Hank, and sat down to next his wife. Hope meanwhile, took her place next to her maid of honor, Chloe. Those gathered resumed their seats.

And dear, dear Chuck continued.

"Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here today . . ."

Hank did not stumble or falter. He had his Hope to hold him up.

_I love you, Hope._

_I love you, Hank._

* * *

The hired caterers provided a small, fantastic feast within one of the dining halls of the manor.

Hank knew he actually imbibed food and drink, he just didn't know what it had been or what it had tasted like.

He only saw her.

He knew people said nice things to him and wished him well. He knew he responded appropriately.

He knew several people made toasts to the happy couple, but later he couldn't remember much of what was said.

But he only heard her melodic voice.

His parents, flown in as promised for the occasion, beamed and smiled and even danced a little to the small band hired for the evening. Though they seemed a little shell-shocked by the environment and friends in which their son now surrounded himself with.

Hank, content to watch the festivities from a distance, suddenly found himself in the presence of his newly acquired in-laws.

"We're so happy for you two, Hank."

He was drawn into a hug by Catherine who looked happy and younger herself.

"Well done, son. Now take good care of her."

Harold clapped him soundly on the back and shook his hand. Still squeezed a little tightly.

"Thank you. I will."

His Hope appeared and pulled him to the dance area for a slow dance which Hank was only prepared for because his pancake girl had refused to allow him to embarrass her.

"You helped me with math. I help you with dancing. Come here, you teddybear," she had said.

So thanks to her, he managed to refrain from falling down or stepping on his beloved wife's toes.

While Charles Xavier watched with a smile and wondered if there was a woman out there who wouldn't mind dancing with a handsome telepath in a wheelchair.

As it turned out, an attractive young woman named Amelia did.

She sat right down in his lap crossways and he spun her joyfully around the dancefloor for a few songs. Alex, feeling bold, requested a dance from Kat, who tried to hide her smile behind a smirk and danced with him anyway.

Little Kurt (shielded from judging eyes for the evening) competed with Ink to see who could pilfer the most sweets from the table and win the most dances with a certain green-eyed Chloe. Who rewarded them both with hugs and kisses. Of differing types.

Hank and Hope cut the cake and fed each other.

When Morty (whom Charles had shielded his toady appearance for the evening as well) called out from the side for Hope to cream him, she had scooped icing up and flung it good-naturedly at him. Against all possibility, he had remembered to keep his long tongue behind his thin lips and simply applauded her effort with delight.

Hope threw her flower bouquet and Chloe, without the use of her powers (mostly), caught it and turned expectantly to Ink. Who laughed and proceeded to endure much excited ribbing from Alex. Until Max (also shielded for the evening) dumped his punch cup over Alex's head to cool him off.

Hank, red-faced and stammering, removed Hope's bridal garter _(how high up _did_ she put this thing?) _and sling-shotted it over his shoulder. Peter, the Quicksilver Kid, caught it at normal speed and then commenced to wear it like a sweatband for the reminder of the festivities.

Even at the grumbling behest of Alex, Charles could bring himself to neither freeze Peter for it to be removed nor use his abilities to convince the boy to remove it himself.

By request, Big Blue danced with Hope's sweater knitting, hog riding, Grandma. And then, with a little preplanned help from his slightly tipsy in-laws, produced Tom's old motorcycle and swept the thrilled elderly woman away for an easy afternoon ride to much cheering and applause of all present.

Charles had informed Hank two weeks prior that he would pay for a honeymoon to whatever destination they wished to visit. He had provided them a generous amount of spending money for their enjoyment.

"Don't tell the others," he'd confided to an astounded Hank. "Next thing you know, they'll be getting married just to get the free vacations."

Hank had laughed.

"Thank you, Charles."

And so it was that Hank McCoy and his wife Hope were bid farewell as their wedding guests blew bubbles from small single use containers at the happy couple (Alex and Peter threw their containers at Hank, laughing as they bounced off his chest) and boarded the Xavier private plane. They flew themselves to Niagara Falls for a six day, all expenses paid, honeymoon.

On the flight, Hope slyly suggested to Hank that they become members of the Mile High Club.

Hank considered this idea as she nuzzled his ear and then decided to wait until they landed to avoid crashing the plane on their wedding day.

* * *

**Well, there you go. Did I do okay?**

**I chose Niagara Falls because that was a really popular honeymoon destination circa the 1970s.**

**Thanks to ChiefPam, I've Been a Labrat, MoonlitShadowsoftheHumanSoul, brigid1318, and Aletta-Feather for your always loyal reviews. I myself have been less loyal today about replying to you but I am gearing up to welcome my students back to school and am struggling to get any writing done (not whining, I've played for nine weeks, yeah?) so please forgive me and I will talk to everybody this weekend. Just don't quit on my Hank because I'm being pulled away. ;)**

**So let's see . . . Ah, yes . . . You're going to like this next one. *smirks**


	26. Just You and I

I do not own X-Men anything.

You'd think I'd run out of words by now. You'd be wrong.

Reaching Out

Chapter 26: Just You and I

* * *

"Is this yours?"

They were all alone, seconds after closing their hotel door and Hope was holding out a small brown toiletries bag found among the several they had generously tipped the wait staff for bringing up to their honeymoon suite. Hank shook his head.

"No, I thought it was yours."

Hope shrugged.

"Nope. Never seen it."

Hank noticed a tag dangling off the small bag. He grasped it and read it out loud.

"Mr. and Mrs. Hank and Hope McCoy."

They both blushed a little from their new titles.

He took the bag from her curiously and unzipped it. As he did, the contents spilled out. Many of them. Small, crinkly, cellophane squares. Dozens of them. Maybe nearing the hundreds.

His face colored instantly.

Condoms. Of differing sizes, textures, and colors.

Hope burst into laughter then bent down and retrieved a piece of paper that had been stuck into the middle of the pile.

It was simply worded.

'Have a great honeymoon! ~ The Guys

Hank blanched further.

_I'm going to kill them all._

Hope picked one square up.

"Glow in the Dark, Jumbo Size," she read aloud, laughter once again coloring her voice. "Well, these _must_ be yours."

Hank thought he might die on the spot.

"I didn't do this," he said instantly, nearing a fantastic shade of burgundy.

Hope quirked an eyebrow at him, a teasing smile upon her face.

"Well, _obviously_, loverboy."

Hank tried not to stutter.

_This is not how I anticipated this going. This is not smooth at all._

"But, uh, I guess that's good because I forgot about, uh, protection."

He sheepishly started to reach for the small package in her hand, but Hope tossed it over her shoulder, grinning devilishly.

"Nope. No way, loverboy. I don't need that kind of protection from you."

Hank felt confused.

"What?"

Hope shrugged.

"Already taken care of."

She reached out, grasped his thin tuxedo tie, pulled him close, and wrapped her arms around him, drawing him into a series of slow, tantalizing kisses.

"See, I've waited this long to get this close to you . . ."

Kiss.

". . . and now that I've got you . . ."

Kiss.

". . . I don't want anything to come between us."

Kiss.

"But . . . how?" Hank murmured.

Kiss.

"Now _that_, my husband . . ."

Kiss.

". . . is not sexy talk at all . . ."

Kiss.

". . . but this . . ."

Kiss.

". . .is. Take off those glasses . . .

Kiss.

". . . and come here."

And so he did.

Then he forgot all about his embarrassment and the dozens of little square packages littering the floor.

And it turned out to be a very good decision indeed.

* * *

Hank McCoy was a reserved man by nature and practice. Hope had always known that and had chosen to accept and appreciate it as part of his personality.

Now alone within those four walls of their honeymoon hotel room with his wonderful, beautiful wife whom he trusted and loved so much, he found he was able to express another facet of himself. With her, her that he had cared for so much that he had overcome his fears and stepped forward and asked her to be his wife. Her with her warm eyes and bright smile and glowing heart and sticky mutant fingers. With her, he found himself finally able to fully express the feelings and desires he had held in check for so very long. Without a hint of embarrassment or shame to mar it. And allow her to express hers for him as well.

With much love, passion, joy, and sometimes, as good relationships are able to have, laughter.

It was a wonderful, glorious set of days for them both.

Though they might have starved to death in the first couple of days if it weren't for the hotel's loyal room service.

* * *

Eventually, they ventured out into the world to take in the sights and sounds of the glory of Niagara Falls and its tourist town.

They rode the Maid of the Mist right next to the falls.

"Well, something better be a 'maid' around here," the new wife quipped to her husband. "'Cause I already quit _that_ job."

He blushed terribly as she kissed him and dampened as they both were, he thought he might want to explore that avenue of thought a little further.

So they went back to the hotel room and did.

They stayed out late and first watched the lights of the falls and then the fireworks explode over them. She stood, her body cradled back against his and their arms intertwined around her middle, content and happy together. Until he started feathering her ear and neck with kisses and then they had to leave.

They got their portrait done by a street-style caricature artist. Among other fascinating visuals of the piece, Hope's warm brown eyes were comically huge and Hank's eyebrows decidedly more Vulcan than ever before.

They enjoyed restaurants, art museums, and even a few hikes.

Though they never stayed out their hotel room, or its adjoining bathroom, for very long.

* * *

He was asleep. And dreaming. And he knew it.

Because there were Sentinels there. And he knew there were no Sentinels.

Not yet anyway.

From out of thin air, Hope's voice called out to him. Though he could not see her anywhere. It sounded dreamy as if she were asleep too.

"Hank, you're furry."

_Yeah, okay. I'll trim in the morning, Hope. _

And again.

"_Hank_, you're furry."

_Hope, I don't have time right now. That's a very sensitive area, you know, and I don't want to nick anything down there. Let me finish fighting this Sentinel and I'll get to it._

"Hank, wake _up_. You're _furry_."

He woke up then and found that he was indeed blue and furry.

_Oh man. I hate when that happens._

He lay still in the dark. Concentrating on regulating his heartbeat, slowing his breathing, and putting the beast back in its cage.

Hope's arms wrapped around his body and felt her kiss his cheek.

"You okay?" she asked sleepily.

He reached out and hugged her.

"Yeah, sorry I woke you up."

She kissed him again.

"It's okay."

She sleepily kissed his face and stroked his fur. He let her, starting to slid back into sleep.

Until her kisses and caresses changed their tone.

And all of him woke back up.

He tried to halt her kisses, to reach over into the bedside table for his backup stash of injection needles.

"Wait, I need my serum."

She gently pulled him back to lay flat on his back and snuggled atop him.

"Not just yet."

He tried to make her understand as he looked up at her lovely face, her dark hair curtaining their faces.

"But I can't . . . I can't go back on my own right now. . ."

Hope nuzzled him seductively even as her hands continued along their wandering paths.

"It's okay, loverboy, relax. I love all of you and this is just part of you."

He clenched up a little, uncertain and uncomfortable even as Hope continued her tantalizing kisses and caresses, breaking down his weakening resolve.

"Don't worry, you're not going to hurt me and it's not going to become a fetish. I just want to try it."

So he let her try it, this woman he loved and trusted so much.

As it turned out, they were both glad she did.

* * *

They obtained several souvenirs while on their trip.

One set in particular, were very, very special.

And though they shared their pictures and souvenirs with the others upon their return to Xavier Manor, there was one set that was shared with no one but each other.

Special, everlasting tokens.

In case the wedding rings ever became too cumbersome, what with Hope's sticky fingers and Hank's blue, furry alter ego, they came up with a contingency plan.

It was Hope's idea actually.

They went together. Took turns holding each other's hand during the procedure.

And it _hurt_.

But now when the tender skin had healed, the pain was all gone.

And their eternal tokens remained.

It was her first and only tattoo. And his.

Hank's was small, written plainly in blue, and read "For Gecko". Located far south of his belly button.

She liked to run her fingertips and lips over it.

Hope's was small, written plainly in blue, and read "For Beast". Located far south of her belly button.

He liked to run his fingertips and lips over it.

Both tattoos were outlined in orange.

Their little secret.

* * *

On the morning of the seventh day, she awoke with soft rays of sunlight filtering through the covered window.

He was awake too, laying still and quiet. Hair mussed, eyes half open. Watching the light play shadows across her beautiful face.

Wrapped in his arms, enjoying the feel of their unadorned bodies pressed together, Hope murmured the first words of the morning.

"Well, we slept a little late. I suppose we should get going home."

He smiled mischievously and pulled her even closer.

"Mmm, no, not just yet."

She let him convince her to stay where they were a little longer.

And was happy she did.

They both were.

* * *

**Almost ten years too early for 'Just You and I' by Eddie Rabbit and Crystal Gayle (whom I met as a child), but the song still fits for the title anyway. :)**

**Okay, a little explanation here in order here. This is not a chapter about sex (well, mostly not, they're married, shut up!) it's a chapter about accepting all different aspects of who you are and finding someone who does as well. And being happy and content.**

**And it's about sex. ;)**

**And no, Hope does not have a thing for bestiality. She has a thing for Hank.**

**Yeah, yeah. I watch InkMaster. These tattoos would not be impressive. Except to Hank and Hope, right? *winks**

**Thanks to HelloILikeIt (who's powered thru this trilogy like a mad taxi driver, wow, thanks sweetie and I always check all my reviews on all my stories and say thank you in the last chapter to anyone who reviewed after it was completed), ChiefPam, MoonlitShadowsoftheHumanSoul, Aletta-Feather, I've Been a Labrat (who's just _SO_ understanding *winks), X . Kuchisake - Onna . X. and brigid1318 for hanging in there.**

**Well, I guess we'd better go back to the Manor for one last chapter. Charles has a little announcement.**


	27. The Next Step

I do not own X-Men anything.

You'd think I'd run out of words by now. You'd be wrong.

Reaching Out

Chapter 27: The Next Step

* * *

"Take deep, slow breaths," Charles advised. "Keep your eyes closed and your entire body relaxed."

Ink sat very on the floor, concentrating on the stillness, willing himself to see the unseen. Next to him, Charles' aura slowly swirled into view, a grey shapeless silhouette streaked with eddies of dark cobalt and light cerulean.

"Clear your mind. Think of nothing. Concentrate on opening all of your other senses to your surroundings."

Ink visualized his essence spreading out like an invisible mist, covering everything, seeping into it, becoming one with everything.

After several moments of quiet, Charles spoke again.

"What do you hear?"

Ink senses shapes of red and orange. The red pulsed in quick, sporadic flashes while the orange waved like ocean tides. If ocean tides could laugh.

"Max yelling at Peter to stop . . . something."

Charles took a deep, relaxing breath, seated on the Persian rug next to Ink.

"Beyond that. What else do you hear?"

Ink searched further, frowning in concentration. Green and blue hues mixing together like strands of music from a violin.

"Morty betting Chloe a Snickers bar that Alex is going to kiss Kat by the end of the week and she'll smack him for it."

Charles flexed his hands on his unfeeling knees, determined to maintain his patience.

"Keep going. What else is out there?"

Ink unconsciously tilted his head in the direction of a light purple form subsisting next to a smaller white aura tinged with streaks of yellow.

"Alex telling Kurt that he'd be great in a circus act."

Charles sighed, opening his eyes, ceding the peace of the mediation to the more active inhabitants of the house.

"Perhaps we should schedule a session in the middle of the night to practice your telepathy when things are a bit quieter."

Ink opened his eyes, squinting around at the enclosed second floor room of the manor. Charles was maneuvering his pain-free body closer to the wheelchair, preparing to lift himself into it.

Ink spoke.

"And Hank and Hope are back. Or will be. They're about five minutes from landing."

Charles grinned, his former irritation forgotten.

"Well now, that _is_ fantastic news."

* * *

Hank and Hope were greeted by a small mob of eager, questioning mutants.

"Hey, good trip?"

"Yeah, I didn't crash the plane once!"

"Way to go, Hope!"

"What was Niagara Falls like?"

"Wet. Very wet."

"Well now, _there's_ some phrasing . . . ow! Hank, you need to tell your woman to stop punching - _ow_!"

"You're on your own, Ring of Fire. Besides, I _like_ it when she punches you."

"Oh well, look who's all smug and stuff now that you got la- _ow_! Can't you aim for another _spot_, Hope?"

"I _could_. But I _won't_."

"Hey, welcome back! Are you pregnant yet?"

"_Pietro_ _Maximoff_! My womb is _none_ of your affair and _no_ I am not!"

"Well, _jeez_, Hank, couldn't you get the job d- , _ow_! Hope, stop punching people!"

"Well, stop being asinine!"

"Hope, I missed you!" _Bamfph._ "What did you bring me?"

"Hey, little nightcrawler! Oh boy, I've missed your hugs! I'm sure I've got something in my bag for you."

Hank noticed Charles off to the side, simply content, it appeared, to be observing the slight insanity that had befallen the excited younger mutants of Xavier Manor.

Charles smiled warmly at him, nodding his head in welcome. Hank returned it and walked over, offering a hand.

"Welcome back, my friend."

"Hello, Charles."

"A satisfying vacation, then?"

"Yes."

"Good. You know, I had a curious interaction the other day . . ."

* * *

They slipped away to the privacy of Charles' study.

According to Charles, a non-descript, obviously government-employed man had come to the Manor during Hank and Hope's hiatus looking for the scientist. Upon being told by Charles that his quarry was not home, the man had not chosen to give a reason for the visit and had refused to leave any means of contact.

Charles however, loyal friend and telepath extraordinaire that he was, had read the man's thoughts. The man had psi shields around his mind but despite what he thought, they were clumsy and weak and Charles was able to slip past them easily enough without alerting him to the fact.

The results were intriguing.

The Nightstalkers, a clandestine special operations unit so secret the government never even talked about them. So named for the fact that they operated only during the hours between dusk and dawn. So covert that it was unclear whom they answered to. National security deemed their activities so unconstitutional, yet necessary that even the president had no knowledge of their existence. A precaution taken so that he must be able to plead complete plausible deniability in the face of indictment. A highly trained, highly dangerous group of commandos so secret that to be captured meant knowing no one would come to the rescue. The shadow men within essentially had no names and no limits to the means they could take to reach their ends. These were the men that were called upon to 'bring down the mountain' at any and all costs.

"How did they get my name?" Hank asked his friend, quite stunned and somewhat overwhelmed.

Charles shrugged.

"Apparently they found some redacted files regarding your Blackbird."

Hank frowned.

"What do they want with me?"

Charles looked at him if it were obvious.

"They want to recruit you."

Hank looked shocked.

"Me? As a killer commando?"

_Growl. _

_Calm down, Beast. Don't too excited._

_Growl._

_Yes, I am aware this is right up your alley._

Charles, meanwhile was shaking his head.

"No . . ."

_Growl._

_Oh, stop _whining_, you big, blue baby._

". . . they want you to make their weapons."

A chill had run through Hank.

_Whoa._

* * *

He immediately excused himself to find Hope. Who was clearly relieved to be rescued from being grilled by a very frustrated Chloe. Who apparently had not been get the down and dirty information she sought.

Hank practically dragged Hope to his (_ours, it's our room now_) room, closed the door, and locked it.

One look in his clear blue eyes revealed to Hope that he had unfortunately not drug her up here to finally muss up that perfectly made bed of his.

And he opened his mouth and told her everything that Charles had revealed to him.

And now stood before her, awaiting her reaction.

It took a few moments since it really was a lot of information to absorb.

Finally, she spoke, her words and tone noncommittally.

"This could be a big opportunity for you and your work."

Hank searched her deep eyes, unable to read her reaction. He didn't like that.

He spoke carefully.

"We would have so much between us that I never talk about to you. So much classified information."

She nodded, still keeping a flat affect. This had to be a decision that started and ended with him.

He waited, then kept talking.

"We'd never know when we could be together. Our lives would always be unbalanced, unstable. That's not an environment conducive to a married life or family . . ."

Hope's face registered mild surprise and she ghosted a smile.

"We're going to have a family?" she interrupted, feinting surprise.

Hank shrugged absently, not rising to the bait. They had already talked about that. And yes, they would, eventually.

"Maybe someday. And this doesn't seem to be a weekend thing. It seems like it would control every aspect of our existence."

Hope waited.

"I don't want that for us," Hank concluded.

Hope watched his face intently.

"Are you sure?"

Hank nodded decisively.

"Yes, I am."

Hope gave it another minute, searching him for doubt. She saw none at all. Finally, she smiled, relieved.

"Good. Neither do I."

He grinned crookedly, his frustration apparent.

"Well, you could have just _said_."

She smiled. She knew exactly what she had done. And he did too actually. She kissed him soundly for his valiant efforts. Then with his arms wrapped around her, she looked into his eyes, more serious now.

"What if they come back?"

Hank shrugged.

"Then I say 'no'."

She considered this.

"Sometimes those kind of people don't like that word."

Hank nodded.

"There's always the Beast if it comes to it," he replied.

She hugged him tighter.

"Then your anonymity would be gone."

He sighed with resignation.

"Yeah, I know."

* * *

Hank returned to Charles once more on the matter and informed him of his decision.

Charles was not quite so subtle as dear Hope had been.

He reacted immediately.

"Excellent! I'd rather hoped you'd chose to stay on."

Hank smiled easily.

"I like it here. It's a good place to be."

Charles rolled his wheelchair closer to Hank, who was seated in an armchair in the study.

"We're getting stronger, you know. All of us. Together. You as well."

Hank nodded in agreement.

"Yes."

Charles leaned forward eagerly.

"And I think it's about time we begin using Cerebro to start finding other mutants . . ."

Hank suddenly knew what Charles was going to say before the words left his vocal cords.

". . . and reopen the school officially."

Hank McCoy smiled.

_Yes._

* * *

**And so we come to the end of yet **_**another**_** story. Certainly been a quite ride for our guy Hank, hasn't it? I'd like to think that he's going to live happily for a while with his work, his friends, and his Hope. Hollywood may not like its heroes happy but I'm sure all for it. **

**Thanks so much to everyone who has read and reviewed this story time and again. You all are wicked loyal, I must say that. To my brigid1318, MoonlitShadowsoftheHumanSoul, chasing yesterday always, I've Been a Labrat, S.H.I.E.K, ChiefPam, Pandiichan, Pazithia . Gallifreya, Aletta-Feather, X . Kuchisake - Onna . X, and HelloILikeIt (I'd totally talk to you if you had an account! And btw, their tattoos are like, **_**super**_** low), thank you for being there for sooooo long. You are all very gracious and I have appreciated you very much.**

**Thanks also to DragonSong23 for your absolutely stunning review! Wow! Just, wow!**

**Thanks to thecruelworldwelivein, theshortone22 (that is SO cute!), YannieMae, morgandorfer1, Whenthebirddies, Utopiste, JessTheArtist, Sabrina Kirkland, and princessyuki08 for adding your support to this tale. :)**

**Thanks once more to those readers who chose to remain quiet. I really hope you enjoyed the story as well. **

**Now, everybody wave bye to Hank and Hope and all the rest. Blow them kisses and wish them well. We may see them again but for now let's all go out and live our own lives, yeah? We'll let them do the same. :)**


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